Destruction of Esoteric Query
by XXLucyxLolaxX
Summary: Sleep my love let the trees above protect you from the dark. A great river will watch you as you dream until dawn. Leon, Claire
1. Chapter 1 Prologue

**Chapter 1. "Prologue."**

* * *

'How long are we going to keep doing this?'

The question that never left his mind. Enough already.

He grew tired from everything

Leon S. Kennedy sat near the window, lost in thoughts about the world. He was in his good friend's house in the countryside, spending some time off.  
Or more like attempting to spend time off.

It'd been a month since the incident with Glenn Arias. He just needed some peace, and Claire was kind enough to call and invite him over.

Her garden is an enchanted one, he couldn't deny.

It's wide and open, sloping gently down to a cosmic-blue river. A grove of cypress pines flanks them on one side, and a thicket of peaceful beeches standing guard on the other.  
Apple trees ran through the center of the garden, casting a lake of clawed shadows onto the grass.  
In autumn, the fiery brilliance of their leaves is quite a sight: scorching-oranges, burning-browns and molten-reds.

Then they drift to the ground as silently and carelessly as an ash cloud, settling into their eternal rest.

Past the river, there was a plush-green meadow that stretched away into the vastness. A dragon-backed mountain oversaw it all.

"I was lucky my aunt gave me this place. I needed to be alone; in seclusion, just to find peace after everything that happened with Alex." Claire came in and spoke, getting his attention.

Claire Redfield, younger sister of Chris, a former S.T.A.R.S member, had been living in her aunt's residence, far away from the city lights.

All those noises.

It helped her grow and forget.  
Now, of course, she wasn't completely toned up in her muscle, but she was still very much athletic; balanced to a feminine pinnacle. She wore a grey shirt and frumpy, acid-washed jeans.  
Her brown hair is short now, and touches her cheeks. A change of appearance was needed.

Leon sighed, his head resting on his palm. "Thanks Claire, but I won't stay long."

Claire sat on the couch and just stared at him for a moment.  
How much has time changed him? She still remembered the easy-going cop that just wanted to help.

The one she lost.

It was an unspoken truth. Maybe it wasn't meant to be for her, she knew he wasn't looking for anything.  
Still, she didn't forget their experiences, and once she heard of his problems, it took so much of her strength to stay put. To not run there to him, her heart racing.

"Aw, don't say that." Claire said. "You need some time off from it all. We all do. You're more than welcome to stay here until you feel better."

He sighed and just kept his eyes focused on the view outside.

The gentle air kissed his face ever so often.

Claire's expression shifted into sadness. It _does_ pain her to see him like this, and the worst part of it was she couldn't do much to help.

"I'll make you some coffee." She stated flatly, and left the living room.

Left awkward silence.

Left him at peace.

Leon drowned himself inside his mind. There _was_ a time when he was happy and carefree, a time where he had so many plans for what looked like a bright future.  
All of them burned up in Raccoon City.  
The truth is, he'd do anything to turn back time and just be somewhere else.

He'd give anything to go back to a sense of normalcy.

The man took one final look at a long tree, close to the river.

"Huh . . . ?" He rubbed his eyes to make sure about what he was seeing.

There was a woman standing near it.  
A woman with long, greying raven hair that reached her mid back, wearing a dark blue dress.

And she was waving at him.

Leon choked in his throat for a moment. For that figure belonged to his mother.

Words wouldn't describe how much he missed her.

"M- . . . Mom?" Leon called shakily.

After some hesitance, he leaped out the open window. I mean, he could've used the door, but he wasn't feeling right.

The woman turned, walking down past the river out of sight.

Leon felt pulled to her.

He glanced one last time at the cozy living room, wondering if he should call out to Claire and tell her?

But there was no time to waste.

He jogged down the path.

"Mother! Wait!" He rounded a dirt path to the left, and, out of nowhere, everything changed.

Snow was falling heavily, and the air grew cold.

He was someplace else; no how, no why, nowhere near Claire's house. He could tell that much at least.

Before him stood rows and rows of nameless gravestones.  
It had no resemblance the place he was before.

On the ground, brown, dead grass covered the scarred lands. The only tree's were leafless, tearing at the sky with their gloomy, spindly branches.

'Where am I? How did I reach this place to begin with?'

The area was a fenced courtyard, but all round him was effectively empty, save for the tombs.  
Ahead, past the hollow headstones, were a set of double doors. Though he could see around, a house . . . No, a mansion, lined with a balcony and windows, encompassed him.

He stepped forward, clutching the pistol in his belt.

You never know.

Tiny candles lit up the opposing sides of the doorway, hung on black cast iron. He reached for the handle and pulled.  
The door opened by itself, and inside was a dim, silent hallway.

On the floor was a glow.

An object of some sort, shining at him, begging for his attention.

He stepped inside, finding shelter from the cold, and reached down.

The glow vanished, leaving behind a solid black object, so he picked it up.

It was a flashlight. Old but reliable.

"Who's is this? Where the hell is this place? _What_ the hell is this place." Leon wondered aloud.

There was a split partition screen in front of him.  
The room continued left or right.

It was silent.

Almost peaceful . . . till the silence was broken with the sound of a raspy breath.

It seemed as though a man was having an asthma attack somewhere.

Leon's eyes darted around.

He could see no one.

Focusing his eyes, he suddenly saw it up ahead, shocked. A man stood with his back turned, and his shoulders rose and fell quickly.

"Don't move! Who are you?" He yelled, then asked his question with a bated breath, "What _is_ this place . . . ? Answer me!"

However, the man evaporated within a blink of an eye.

Leon felt his own heart begin to beat faster and faster, slamming his rib cage.

A ghost?

Was that even possible?

He turned left, sneaking down another hall, hidden in a shadow. Taking a right when that path ended, he had to go up several steps. The stairwell led into the main part of the greatroom.  
Ahead were rows of shelves, the tiny, sliding white doors broken and crumbling.  
Nothing was too useful there. In fact, nothing seemed very useful in telling him about this place.

Ahead was another flight, and he could see up into the room above.

To the left was a roped off door.

To the right was the part of the room surrounded by the partition screen.  
Near where he stood was a little Buddhist altar.

"What the . . ." He said, noting the out-of-place object.

'What is this? Claire never told me of an old shrine. Does she even know about this old place?'

He looked past the steps, and saw a long and dark hallway.

Dust swirled around the beam of the flashlight.

He stepped forward and a figure appeared in the dark hall.

Leon knew who it was, he would recognize her anywhere no matter what.

"Mom!"

He dashed forward after her, but she fled from him.

Leon took the left turn.

Ahead was a solid wood door, and to the right, the hall branched. He charged through the entry ahead.

"Mom?!"

He called out again, not really sure what to expect her to say.

Where have you been? It was all a nightmare? Are you okay, sweetheart?

On the left wall was a large mirror that was built into the hallway, stretching down the corridor. At the end, the hall twisted off one way, then made a sharp, impossible left.  
It felt as though the hall curved back in on itself, there wasn't really a rhyme or reason.  
He heard the sound of infected female breathing. Still his eyes could see no trace of any humans, leaving him on edge.

Leon ceased running, but cautiously resumed creeping down the hall.

Snow was falling through the roof. Frigid air blew by, whisked through the holes.

He observed the source to be a hole in the roof.

The snow filled the starlight sky.

It looked odd. Everything was correct, but . . .

"Blood! More blood! _MORE!_ " Leon heard a man scream.

The agent spun around and saw a priest running at him with a raised, bloody cleaver.

He screamed and fired twice.

Right before his eyes, the bullets passed through his body like they just kept hitting oxygen. There was no resistance at all.

The priest slammed the knife down, intent on slashing his chest open.

Leon had a quick reaction, however. So he ducked down, the knife slightly catching the top of his head.

It scraped more than it cut.

Leon pushed himself forward, running away from the ghoulish cleric. Red veins pulsating to the surface of it's face, and the fiend's eyes burned like the devil's.

Another fork in the road, this time one way led to a door, the other led to more stairs.

The right direction's been good to him in the past. He scrambled up the stairs, pumping his legs as hard as they would go.  
Priest followed, dicing at him with the bloody weapon ever so often.  
Leon crashed through the door at the top, and suddenly fell outside. The abrupt exposure to the cold didn't register with him immediately.

He pulled himself forward a little to kick the door closed, hoping that the stranger wouldn't come out to try and gut him for whatever reason.

His breaths slowed down a bit.

Cursing silently.

He really needed the break with Claire. Too bad it got cut short.

'It doesn't make sense.' he thought. 'T-they have to be ghosts, there isn't anything that can physically do that. Am I . . . ?'

His mind frantically surged back and forth between the sight of the priest's face, the monstrous holy man running his way, and the bullets phasing through.  
His greatest fear was to be put in a situation where he was unable to defend himself.

Leon couldn't bear the thought. Surviving all the shit he faced over the years, only to end up in a place like this.

Nothing to assure him that he is safe.

Leon took in his new surroundings.  
The frost finally kicked in, and he began shivering.  
Ahead was a little garden. It was the only green thing he'd seen since getting there.

A spindle-shanked tree sprouted in the middle. Tied to the trunk was a paper doll.

It was a square plot, with a soft, sapphire lantern illuminating the darkened plain. Past the garden, there were a pair of wood doors, styled medieval and carved intricately.  
Two branching hallways on the left and right sides. Again, there was another choice.

Aloof, the large, withered tree sat in the middle of the tiny garden.

"Three blind mice. Three blind mice.

See how they run. See how they all ran after the farmer's wife,Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,Did you ever see such a sight in your life,

As three blind mice?."

The voice of the child echoed through the fibrous tree.

"I wish I knew what that meant. I wish I hadn't jumped . . . This place _feels_ evil." He pondered, "That voice is . . . creepy. Where's it even coming from?"

In the midst of this place, his eyes caught her figure again, walking through the double doors.  
His blood ran cold. She had dried, brown stains on her garb.

He ran around to them.

When he passed the left branch, a small girl in a white dress sprang to existence, holding a stake and hammer. He didn't even see where she came from.

"Ah!" He yelled, her dark hair obscuring everything but her mouth. It was curled into a sickening smile.

She bowed to Leon, whispering, "Stay here . . . forever . . ."

The whispers slithered into his ears.

The frightened but perplexed man knelt down slightly to get a good look at her. She had unnervingly pale skin and short, raven hair.  
Wearing a kimono that drooped slightly long behind her, she appeared no taller than three feet.

" . . . What's your name?" He was reserved about it, not wanting to be invading.

Nevertheless, he placed one hand out cautiously. Slowly, he paced forward to her.

He kept coming closer, she didn't seem to mind.

Okay, almost there now.

Closer.

Close . . .

.

The little girl laughed at his face, the high-pitched sound taking him by surprise. Placing the stake at the back of his palm, she slammed the hammer roughly.

Leon jolted back, howling a pained curse.

Blood poured liberally from the wound.

His hand touched the wall as he felt the world around him swell and twist. The feeling of vice around his head took him over. Another pain flamed from within his skull.

.

Closing his eyes and gasping, he screamed at her, "Why!?"

.

The pain in his palm started rising. He could feel it. Something was moving within his veins, burning him.

He fell on his back, writhing, grasping at his wrist, agonized.

"Stop . . . !" Once the man looked down at his arm, a darkening tattoo of a lion embroidered itself into his skin, swallowing his forearm. It took him some time, but he started to feel better.  
The discombobulation stopped, though it took him massaging his head for the pressure to be relieved.

He looked back at the hallway where the girl was.

She'd gone.

Scanning around revealed an undisturbed location. So she'd just vanished.

Just like that.

Slowly he stood up, depending on the surrounding gate to keep him balanced. At first, he trembled slightly.  
His knees didn't remember their function exactly, but he was able to stand.

Looking again to the double doors, he desired nothing more than for things to return to normal.

To go back to before the C-Virus.

The door slam behind him.

He bolted around.

"No . . ." He whispered and made up his mind.

Kennedy touched the gelid, dusty handle.

"Leon, no. Don't come near . . . No. No, not that way. No." He heard a feminine voice say. It was deep and breathy, becoming hoarse and angered, "Don't go that way! It's soooooo itchy."

A death rattle sounded.

He gritted his teeth and reaffirmed his entry anyway.

In a flash, he kicked the doors open.

They almost flung off their hinges.

Leon walked into the main offices of the police precinct at Raccoon city.

It's all the same.

The statue of the woman in the front, the gloomy, gold-brownish color of the flooring. The scratched, blood-covered door up ahead.  
Leon made an about-face, wanting nothing to do with this wretched setting.

Blot it out from his mind.

He let out a tortured exclamation, "What!?"

There wasn't any door to speak of.  
The police station's entrance was also boarded up too much to break through.

"No . . . No, no, no! NO!" The realization of what happened hit him hard and turned his heart into a rubber. He banged his fist relentlessly on the empty wall. "Why are you doing this to me!?"

He examined the area, feeling sick to his stomach.

Right up on the second floor, he spotted his mother near the door of the waiting room.

Leon trekked down the steps and fell on his knees. For the first time in years he wanted to scream his heart out. He let out a blood-curdling rage.

He's back here again.

Somehow, some way, he's back in the dark. And he had to find a way out.  
But this time, Claire wasn't here to help him.  
He didn't really want to do it, he hadn't cried for years. Nonetheless, he felt them at the corner of his eyes, threatening to fall.

"What took you so long?" He heard a sarcastic male voice with an accent.

He'd recognize that snark anywhere.

"JD?" He said, whipping his head around and scrambling to stand, "How? Why?"

* * *

 **. . . Elsewhere**

* * *

Claire held a trey in her hand as she walked into the living room. "Okay, we'll take a walk outside. What d-" She stopped mid sentence.

Leon's head was resting over the side of the window, eyes closed.

"Sleeping like this, seriously?" She came toward him and placed the trey over the mahogany coffee table. It was curved inward at the legs, like a classy, antique furnishing.

It was polished, good as new.

Gently, she touched his shoulder, shaking him. "Come on, wake up. At least go to the bedroom and rest there."

She didn't see any reaction from him. Rolling her eyes, the woman shook him again, this time a little roughly. "Come on, wake up . . ."

Kennedy stayed asleep.

"Leon . . . ?" Her voice was stabbed with concern. "Okay, you're scaring me! That's enough, get up."

His face looked peaceful enough, as if he was just sleeping, which he was.  
If it wasn't for the pained expression, she wouldn't have noticed anything especially wrong.

His eyebrows plunged into a frown. His lips tight and his teeth gritted.

The fact that he wasn't responding to her made that so much worse.

" _Leon S. Kennedy,_ can you hear me? Wake up, for Christ's sake!" She kept shaking him back and forth. "Please wake up."

She took things a bit further when she ran and grabbed her taser off the buffet table. It had been lying there for some time. A girl can never be too careful.  
She pressed down on the button and shocked his leg directly. If that didn't work, she wouldn't know what to do.  
He was breathing, why wasn't he waking up? She could still sense his heartbeat, but he wouldn't wake up. Wake up. Wake Up! WAKE UP!

"No, don't you dare." She yelled at him and pulled her cellphone from her pocket.

Her hands were shaking a little too much, she dialed the wrong number at first. 912.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she redialed 911. Right this time.

"Come on!"

"911, what is your emergency?" A man answered.

"Uh-Yeah, I'm-I need an ambulance right now!" she spoke, her voice shaky but loud. "My friend, h-he lost consciousness and he won't wake up."

There was a small pause on the other end. Everything sounded magnified, to the point where she could swear that she heard him scribble down something on the other end.

"Okay, did he hit his head on anything before that happened?" The responder asked, and she could hear the sound of keyboard tapping.

"No, uh-uhm- he was normal, and I-I just now found him like this." She continued, giving her location to the man.

She heard him do something else, probably writing the address down.

"Please, _please_ hurry! I don't know what's going on!" She was in a full-blown panic. Everything she tried failed. Even loud noises, and literally tasing him.

She kept losing her mind.

"Okay ma'am. Ma'am, ma'am? There is an ambulance on the way. Please stay on the line with me until they arrive. Tell me if _anything_ changes with him. Okay?"

He had to repeat what he said a few times before she understood.

"Yes . . ." Claire allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.  
She looked down at him and nothing much changed. He wasn't moving.

Maybe it was a coma? Brought on by stress?

"Please, no." She whispered.

 **...Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. please share your thoughts in a review..**

 **Thank you angel wolf for helping me :)**


	2. Chapter 2 Save him

**Chapter 2. "Save him."**

* * *

"What's wrong with him?" Claire worriedly questioned, eyes darting between her vulnerable friend on the hospital bed and the doctor opposite her.

Leon's eyes were currently unfocused, rolling beneath half-closed lids, as he twitched with a general lack of lucidity. She'd heard some chatter here and there, words like..'another case, like Mrs. Jones.'  
It's been three hours since they arrived at the hospital but they'd only just now been allowed to see him. Of all the things that she'd thought of, this she had not expected.  
A comatose special agent Kennedy, sprawled out in the intensive care unit, hooked up to god knows how many machines, just to see if he wasn't brain-dead.

It looked like the wires were merely an extension of his body.

The doctor looked up at her eyes gravely. He really hadn't the desire to bring her in here yet, but she'd been rather . . . insistent.

"This is not the first time we've gotten a patient like this-"

Claire tried to keep calm as she listened.  
She didn't care much about the technical side of things, she just needed to know how long it would take Leon to wake up and recover.

"-At first it seems like everything is completely fine, but, left unchecked, the patient goes rapidly downhill." He paused to take his breath, grabbing at his brow in frustration.

"The patient opens their eyes for a couple of seconds, then they go back to sleep. No matter what tech we use, no matter the medicine, they grow weaker and weaker.  
I've never seen something like this before. They need literal twentyfour-hour care."

Claire covered her mouth and looked down at the ground.

She nodded, only half-hearing what he'd said. She brushed some of the hair from Leon's eyes.  
They'd fallen shut again, lashes dark against the blackening rings that already appeared beneath them, standing out in stark contrast to his all pale skin.

She couldn't quite understand how this had happened to him.

In fact she knew it to be impossible – and was having more than a little trouble comprehending that this was the same person.

When she'd first asked about his condition, she'd been told to prepare for the worst. While he was at least stable now, there was an apparent growing number of risks.

Leon's eyes fluttered and they caught hers for a moment, or at least she thought they did. They drifted out of focus instantly.

Back to sleep; just like that.

"Isn't there something you can do? He seems alright right now." She asked softly trying to keep her voice even as she watched a nurse insert a needle into Leon's cannula.  
His breathing returned to a slower, steady pace. Nevertheless, he slipped back into a deeper delirium.

The doctor nodded his head and smiled slightly. Claire couldn't tell whether he was merely trying to reassure her or whether it was meant sincerely.

"He should be fine now, it was touch and go for a bit, but he's been lucky. He's a _lot_ stronger than the other's afflicted. I suspect a strong will to live. We stabilized him in a semi-comatose state."  
The doctor left out the fact that 'Mrs. Jones' had died on them already. She'd had the same symptoms as Leon and passed away sometime after stabilizing.

Claire sighed, keeping her eyes fixated on Leon. "Do you have any idea how this happened?"

The doctor sighed sadly. "We're doing our best, miss Redfield."

It then occurred to him, "Oh, by the way, I thought you should know: He whispered the name JD awhile ago when he was half awake, does it mean anything?"

Claire pondered over the name for awhile. She couldn't remember any time she spent with Leon where he told her about that name.  
However about a year ago, before the attack on TerraSave, he did talk to her a bit about certain, unnamed individuals when they met and had dinner together . . .  
He's always been a shut in person. She couldn't tell much about him.

"I don't know." She whispered. "I wish I did."

Claire dragged a chair and took a seat near the bed. So many thoughts were going through her mind. She didn't want to succumb to depression. There's always hope.

Perhaps, after all those missions he'd been through, it was just stacked up damage to his health without him knowing. A different nurse came by and took the clipboard at the end of his bed.

She started writing something and Claire wondered if it was preparation for his death.

The only thing they refused to say to her.

"Please tell me, what happened to Mrs Jones?" she asked, her voice unmistakably nervous.

The blonde nurse breathed and avoided her eyes. "Think positive. Don't give up on account of a little coma."

"Please?"

The nurse bit her lip as she looked down at Leon. "This isn't the case with your friend, he's in much better shape than her. Think positive."

Claire placed her hand on her sternum and closed her eyes. "Yeah . . . Thank you. I should know so I'm prepared."

Silence filled the room. There wasn't any sound, other than the machine attached to the man . . . echoing, making her anxiety grow with each passing second.

.

Out of nowhere, the door kicked open and a woman came in running.

Claire jumped from her chair screaming. "Oh god! Whoa . . . Jesus, don't do that! Who are you!"

The woman was young, possibly around 25 years old, and she had an ebony pop-cut. The look in her eyes spoke volumes of how terrified she was.

"It's a curse . . . !" she whispered, "It's the curse again!"

"What? What are you going on about?" Claire wondered as she resumed her standard breathing.

The young woman pointed at him with her index finger.

"The Mansion Of the Incubi lures the depressed in, just like it did with Mrs. Jones. You've got to stop it- _You need to stop it!_ Save him, before it's too late . . ." Her words were stock but effective,  
delivering the necessary message to her.

"Lily come on." An elderly woman came in and held onto the woman. "Don't bother them."

Claire looked back and forth at the two, not sure what to say.

"Forgive her." The elderly woman bowed slightly. Speaking in a bit of broken english, it was almost sing-song, "She does have some mantel issues."

"It's . . . okay." She murmured, watching them leave and close the door. She gazed down at Leon and, once again, there was a pained expression in his tired face.

She sighed and leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. Once her lips made contact, he suddenly opened his eyes and gasped.

"Leon?" she said, horrified.

"Please . . . !" he heaved the words and grabbed her hand, "I don't want to go back there . . . I don't want to go back in the dark."

"Where is the dark!?" she shouted for help, "Doctor! Somebody please hurry!"

In the midst of it all, she felt Leon's hand loosen. When she looked back at him, his eyes fluttered and he'd drifted to sleep again.

"What's happening to you?" She whispered.

The Tattoo curse; a folk tale she heard from a photographer long ago, when she was visiting some place in Africa. The time Claire was there on vacation with some other TerraSave members.

* * *

. . .

There is a sleeping Lion that drifts alone, fighting the regular urge to kill. In so doing, it became lost at sea, forgetting the way of the pack until all the natives used a fire to try to guide it back.  
On it's way home, however, it was swallowed by a shark as it was coming back to land, and so its return could not be fulfilled.  
Something went wrong, horribly wrong, and a curse engulfed the sharks, who spilled onto the land.  
If the curse touches mostly the lost and depressed, like the Lion itself was, then those affected will be swallowed hole by the Ocean of Dreams.

But if it was true, how could this happen here? Or does a place not matter to things like this, unbound by the spirit, not geography?

. . .

* * *

'No! . . What am I thinking!? This is crazy.' She shamed herself, 'It's a biological disease, and nothing more.'

And yet, everything happening was just outright strange.

This out-of-nowhere-coma, waking up fully for a few seconds before going back to sleep? What is this?

Claire closed the front door to her house.

"This is just the worst day." She muttered to herself, then called Chris and told him what had happened.

He was sympathetic but frustratingly confused, so he answered her with: 'I'll be there soon, to check up on him and see how are you doing in the house.'

Though comforting, she didn't care at the moment.  
It was almost eight o'clock. She was already tired from all that had happened in this bizarre day.

She climbed to her bedroom and slipped on her white pajamas. Then she sat down on her bed.  
Her mind still worried about the comatose figure she left at the hospital, but there isn't anything anyone can do for him at the moment.  
She sighed and rested her head on her pillow.

'Maybe a little sleep will help,' Claire thought before she closed her eyes.

Within seconds she felt an absolutely frigid chill shutter through her body.

It was summer time.

Claire opened her eyes and saw herself in a white haze. Or more like a snowy area.

"Where . . ?" She trailed off.

At the front door of some kind of a mansion, she stood. The entrance opened, and for some reason she felt drawn inside.  
Claire started walking slightly toward it when a sound stopped her.

.

"The one you seek is over there. But you're not meant to be here yet . . ."

.

The sound of a little girl talking right into her ear.

"Leon . . . is inside . . . ?" Claire asked dreamily.

Like she was under the influence of hypnosis, she jolted back and found herself in bed.

"What is happening!?" She screeched.

 **~Thank you for reading, I hope you liked this. Please leave a review~**

 **Chapter 3 coming soon. Thank you angel wolf for helping me**


	3. Chapter 3 The Demon

**Chapter 3 "The Demon"**

* * *

His flashlight probed the hall relentlessly, yet he couldn't see anyone.

"You left me to die alone in that street." JD shouted again. "You broke the promise."

Once he gazed out in front of him, there he was . . . Like some kind of puppet. The Russian man rose from the ground with a feint aura of shadows surrounding him.

"You're dead." His voice carried like a double echo. "It's funny you had to die to understand your guilt, the crimes you've committed."

"No! I- . . . I helped you, remember? I helped you see the truth about-. . . I did my best, damn it!" He could still recall that day they'd met, a s he won't forget.

"Don't you get it? You couldn't help us if you tried. Deep down, you LOVED seeing us turned; bitten and chewed into oblivion.  
It gave you pleasure, because you knew you'd be able to survive from the start. You never wanted to save us, you sociopathic bastard." He shot back in a matter-of-fact tone that seemed so much unlike him.

"What?!" Leon protested, starting to sense his heart beat escalate with each passing second.

"Really?" JD replied in a mocking tone this time. "You are no Hero, just a smug man-whore who wants the fame all to himself.  
It doesn't matter who will survive the night with you." A hint of irritation present in his voice.

Without warning JD started twitching around violently, appearing to move like time did not govern him. He shifted in a blur, rocketing towards him in an instant.

Suddenly staring him directly in the face, Leon stumbled. He screamed and fell on his back.

"You deserve to suffer. You deserve every last waking moment of the pain that I went through." JD's voice changed, growing deeper and thicker by the last word.  
The man's body started to warp and contort in on itself, like something was emerging from within him. Blood started to seep down from his back as something pushed itself out.  
Within seconds, a pair of over-sized, currant wings started to spread, then rest plainly upon it's back, contracted.

He began to feel the freezing wind that it created.

Leon's breath quicken. His heart felt like the thrumming pinions of a caged bird. A sudden bloom of wintry blew against his face. He wanted to run.  
He wanted so desperately to just get away. His legs were frozen in place. There was no escaping.

Tall as a bear, but much wider, horns burst from the side of it's head, splattering him with grainy, copper fluid. Blackened spikes also emerged from it's chin, volcanic in sight and smell.  
It's whole body was covered in bones, like crimson skin. Veins and barnacles crinkled into it's chest in various spots.  
The creature had no nose, just the two nasal passages where the cartilage had stripped away. It's arms were monolithic, like all-encompassing, hairy cell walls.

Razor talons adorned it's meaty hands.

A wicked, black-toothed grin broke across it's twisted face as it glared at Leon.

He felt numb, as his pursuer was so large, it nearly filled the narrow hallway completely. Scrambling onto his feet, he tore through the corridor, stumbling for the first few feet.  
The man couldn't even look back, it was so darkly lit. Shifting around him, the environment turned into a hospital, with littered beds blocking his way.

Leon wasn't averse to parkour, but he wasn't expecting the sudden materializing of solid objects. He clipped his side on the metal frame of one old-styled cot.  
Yelling out of pain, the man almost toppled over, losing some of the speed he'd gained. Wind flapped against his back.

The creature attempted to swipe at him, but hit the bed instead. The steel frame flew up vertically into the wall, then collapsed back onto the monster's side.

It slowed down, attempting to rip through the heavy object as it slid in front of it's path.

Leon kept running, ignoring the pain as he pushed himself farther than anything he'd ever done.

Hip wounds are the worst.

Nevertheless, he managed to jet farther away as the beast behind easily shredded through the obstacle.

As more beds approached, he leaped over one and landed on his forearms. It wasn't as easy as it used to be, he was older than his special forces days.  
He rolled forward, managing to push himself off onto his boots again.

JD pursued again, this time slowly scanning for where Kennedy had gone.

He'd kept running. In spite of being forty, Leon kept himself in shape. By then, the man had cleared roughly forty feet but his hip was making things difficult.

The monster roared at him and lunged after him, using it's scaly legs to bound after him.

Another bed blocked the corridor crosswise. He knew another jump wouldn't be wise, so he slid onto his legs, his momentum carrying him forward underneath the obstacle.  
He took care to use his left hip, since the right one was injured.

Taking out his gun, he used it as support to lift himself back up quickly. He knew it probably wouldn't do him any good, but he aimed back and fired off a few rounds as he continued to sprint.  
To his surprise, they didn't pass through him. Instead, each bullet pierced the target's skin, but did little to stifle it.

So he gave up and just kept his focus on running.

The hallway gave way to a dirtied receptionist area. It was Raccoon General Hospital.

Sliding across the desk, he tried to press himself back on to the wall of the reception's desk. Growling and moaning in a scratchy, raspy voice, the beast took a step and Leon began breathing harder.  
He stayed behind the closed area, clasping hard and closing his eyes, keeping his legs tucked from sight.  
The creature went passed the only flickering light, and it went out, plunging the foyer into the dark.

Leon looked around frantically for the creature, which seemed to leave as quickly as it appeared. He held his breath back, and took a chance.

The room was silent.

He couldn't even hear it walking.

Where did it go?

Holding the flashlight, he gulped and pressed the switch.

Leon stared around.

.

.

.

It screeched into his face, howling like the devil. It rushed right in front of him, with giant red eyes and a thick blood chilling voice.

 _ **"You think you can hide!? I'll leave the earth beneath you scorched! AAAAAAAAARRHHHHH!"**_ It's bellow of rage echoed through the halls, turning his blood into ice.

Glimpsing it's hideously convulsing eye, he darted under the demonic savage's swinging arm. The attack smashed the desk to pieces.

It didn't matter where he was going, as long as he could hide and never see this thing again.

Leon's frantic mind failed to process where he was going.  
He heard the beating moans of the creature behind him, and felt a spike gore through his shoulder. A claw caught the side of it, so he felt fresh pain sear into his arm.  
Stumbling forward, he regained balance and risked death by turning left, leaping over the desk.

The beast was only inches away, it slammed it's mountain of an arm down on the desk. Any second slower and he'd be mincemeat.

He bolted down another, shorter hall that ended in a door, then crashed through it into the squad room for the beat cops, where his own locker should be.

Back in the police precinct . . .

The long room had been trashed, benches and chairs splintered and overturned everywhere he looked. Smears of dried blood decorated the walls. Splashes of it in tacky, trailing puddles on the floor, leading toward . . .

"This isn't real. It must be some kind of Virus." he shook his head.

A cop's brutally mutilated corpse was sitting up against the lockers, his legs splayed, half-hidden by a smashed table.

"Don't want to see, anymore." He heard a raspy female voice spit into his ears.

He immediately capered over a table, racing for the door as the demon's movements were getting closer and closer behind him.

There was the gold-flourish-decorated, wooden door right to the side of the room, roughly fifteen feet or so away.

Something slammed shut somewhere, and he saw a table fly beside him. It collided right into the wall. He flinched to the left, holding his arms up and ducking.

"What the-!" He whispered for his voice, but it was lost. He bounded for the next door, keeping low to the ground as he burst through the next door.

He found himself in the evidence locker.

'Evidence room? That's not right.' he remembered it clearly. This was not the correct plot of the building. Of course, he was only on active duty for one day.  
He took a right turn away from the black, gated off elevator, and, just like in the past, there was a headless body near the steel door.

The creature hollered at him, again announcing that it was coming after him.

Leon immediately turned off the flashlight, then held the handle of the alloy-reinforced barrier. It was heavy enough that it would take considerable strength to open it.  
He tried his best to avoid making a sound . . . Slowly but surely, he opened the door wide enough for him to enter. As the gap grew, the dim light illuminated the area around him. He methodically applied pressure while staying still.

The door complied with his intentions like an old friend. It seemed like things were actually going well. Then, the body moved.

The cadaver suddenly sprung to life, shuddering around and spewing congealed ichor as the G-virus burrowed to the surface, emerging through to take the place of it's missing head.  
It looked like some fish, albeit crimson, and it grew short tentacles from its membrane as it took control of the body's spine to form a new central nervous system.

Mutating a third eye on it's shoulder, the shapeless head split open into one, giant vertical mouth. This creature prodded toward him, reaching out a hand in an attempt to mimic human movement.

 ***Drr Drr Drr*  
** These were the sounds it made with it's poorly developed vocal chords as it plodded toward him.

Immediately, he threw himself on the other side and slammed the door, catching on the arm of the headless intruder.  
It crunched in the doorway, slowly severing itself as he shoved and shoved, then rammed the door shut.

Iron-tinged liquid exploded into the dimly lit room, sloshing from the wound onto the floor and his pant legs. Flecks painted some his mid, and though it was disgusting, at least the door was closed. He worked to jam it, preventing anything else from following him in.

After successfully placing an empty shotgun through the handle and locking the mechanism, he turned to face the room. It had large shelves and closets to store papers, with stacks of confiscated items arranged in plastic and cardboard boxes.

Someone might have come in and rifled through a few of the boxes, trashing the place . . . just like always.

He went to the opposite end, where a faded grey closet was. He felt his breath hitch in his throat as the vibration of the demon's footsteps began creeping up on him again.  
Flicking the light in the room off, he traversed to the side space of the compartment.

Just hide for now.

But he couldn't help his quickened respiration.

He covered his mouth and shut his eyes tightly. He couldn't see anything in the dark to begin with, but it was comforting to think that if he pretended, it would go.

"Doctor . . . !" He heard a familiar male voice, echoing in the small room.

"Chris?!" Whispered Leon, confused.

"Doctor, hurry! Something's happening."

"Stand aside, mister Redfield. Please-" And the voices vanished just like that.

He didn't know what to make of it. He'd seen a lot, heard some crazy stuff too, but nothing, _nothing_ came close to this.

Minutes passed and the place had been silent.

Not a single sound echoed other than his own heartbeat.  
But he was deathly afraid to walk out now. No, don't go risking a chance to see that repulsive fiend again. It was just too much.

Glenn Arias's tyrant form was a much more tolerable sight than that . . . _Thing_.

Whatever it was.

More time passed. His heart slowed down a bit.

. . .

"Three blind mice, three blind mice . . . See how they run, see how they run . . . They all ran after the farmer's wife, Who cut off their tails with a carving knife . . .  
Did you ever see such a thing in your life, As three blind mice?"

Leon's head snapped up to the sound of the nursery rhyme. It had been sung, that much he could tell.

Was he sleeping? He hadn't realize what had happened in the past few minutes. It was like he blacked out and that story woke him up.

Once he turned the flashlight back on, he was no longer in the evidence room.

No . . . A red sky was above him.

All around, the land was blackened. It looked like the streets of Raccoon City, but . . . It was wrong.

All wrong.

Beside him was his old car, freshly parked and still running.

"This is- It's the exact same." he said. Standing up, he holstered his gun back in his belt, then walked around, inspecting the various buildings.

The air was cold, frigid.

Everything looked as it was, circa 1998, September 28th.

Commercial stores and eateries lined down the roads, and the smell of decay infiltrated his nose.

Dead bodies scattered everywhere, including the one in front of his vehicle. In every which way you could see, the entire facade left him with a sense of Deja Vu.  
Turning to go left, he followed the long thoroughfare to an opened-out area, where the skewered garden was. It was the same as before, virtually untouched, but now in the city's town square.

The garden and it's walkways looked as if they'd been literally transplanted.

"I'm outside again? But . . . how?!"

 ***BOOM-. . . BOOM-. . . BOOM- . . .*** Leon looked over to the sound of heavy footsteps.

. . . And saw Melissa Kennedy, his mother, walking out of sight toward the same set of double doors he'd entered to explore.

Now, they were integrated into the hospital, replacing the humble sliding glass entrance.

A sound of hopelessness escaped his throat.

He starred down at his palm and there was no wound there. Like the little girl had never swung that hammer.

"What-, What is happening to me?" He choked on his words, stressed out, but hesitated to run after her again. It just simply _couldn't_ be his mother. She wasn't . . .

The doors tightly sealed up this time, with sacred rope and paper stretched tightly across it.  
Staked to the doorknob were four cloth figurines, in the shape of humans, and scribbled ink in what appeared to be a tattoo.

He would walk no further.

Leon refused to believe this illusion anymore. Whatever it was, it wasn't his mother. If it truly was, it would have embraced him, not evaded his every movement.

So instead, he chose to walk toward the garden, staring at the dolls on the poles.

 **"In order to keep the Rift from opening-"** A deep male voice shook Leon to his bones.

.

He knew that voice.

.

The winged-devil appeared from nowhere, groaning, **"You must sacrifice something you love."**

It thrust forward with those huge horns.

Leon ducked quickly.

They slammed into the ground, breaking off and leaving foundational cracks. Irate, it threshed itself around, immediately lunging toward the man.

Leon drew his pistol again, firing nonstop. But just like before, the bullets had little to no effect. The man yelled in frustration as he flipped around and rolled away from a fist into the ground.  
Pushing off his knees, he sprinted two steps forward, then tripped on the small railing guarding the path.

They were difficult to see in that lighting.

Leon hit the floor face-first, though to his surprise, he connected with papers and files.

Raising his head, he looked up hopeful, only to find himself back in the evidence room. The order of things made no sense. This place wasn't correct.  
It felt warped, corroded.

"Someone." Leon whispered, allowing sadness into his voice. "Please help me. Wake me up."

The words were almost bitter.

At last, he pulled himself together and decided to leave. Once he opened the stained, metal door, he found himself back at the room with the shrine.

"What?" he looked back behind him. There wasn't a doubt, it was the same old evidence locker, where he'd taken cover, "This is just screwy."

Then, it occurred to him.

He must be losing his sanity. This had to be how fictional character's like the Joker saw the world, he thought to himself.  
All because he decided to follow his mother.

Suddenly, a gentle, female voice broke through the horror.

"Sleep my love as the trees above protect you from the dark."

. . .

Chris rubbed a warm towel over his forehead, under the doctor's orders.

"You're a fighter, Leon! Don't give up."

The doctor kept checking the charts for his heart, pressing buttons over another machine.  
Writing down the numbers he could see, the doctor took a breath and closed the file sadly. He licked the inside of his lips, and then wiped away the residue that gathered at the corners of his mouth.  
He knew what news he had to deliver, that the pain of loss was now not only unavoidable, but also guaranteed.

'And Kennedy had been doing so well. Not like the others.' He thought to himself.

"Mister Redfield, he's much weaker than yesterday." The doctor spoke glumly. "I promise, I'll work hard to find a way, but . . . please keep an open mind to the possibility . . . he might-" The physician stopped talking, for he hated _that_ word.

Chris's gaze dropped to the ground, wondering, 'Why him? He was fine a month ago.'

"No, I don't believe you." Claire's voice broke the silence. She stood still in the doorway, eyes strained red from crying.

Before Chris or the doctor could say anything, she ran to the bed and held unto Leon's shoulders.

Rocking him.

"Leon! Come on! Please, please open your eyes!" She cried, shaking him violently, "You're a survivor like me! Don't you remember the song? Our song-. . ."

Claire started recalling that heart fluttering moment.

* * *

Sleep my love, close your eyes

And when you've awaken, the new day will bring to you a bright new world.

* * *

 **In a cozy club, surrounded by strangers and friends**

* * *

He was close to her, awfully close. She could feel the tingling of his breath flowing against her cheeks. He tilted his head and placed his hand on the small of her back.

The simple touch of his hand sent sparks up her spine, causing her to tremble. They held hands in the center, the only thing separating their chests.

"You all right? I know we've never really danced before, but you seem out of it." He asked, gazing into her eyes.

She could only nod, and take small, quivered breaths.

At that moment, she wished she could kiss him . . . but he didn't see her like that.

They shared that tender dance in the club until midnight.

The piano's blissful notes whisked them away into a daliant road all their own.

* * *

She hadn't forgotten.

"Please, you owe me another dance." she cried softly again, Chris having grabbed her to stop the shaking.  
But her violent attempt failed, simmering down slowly as the memory of that piano faded away.

He still laid, comatose.

The doctor covered his mouth and looked away from the heartbreaking scene. One of the many things they all despised about the job.

A tear welled up in his eye, so he looked down in the hopes of hiding his weakness. Professionals can't cry.

Chris held unto his sister's broken form tightly. Big brother always had her back.

The grasp turned into an all-consuming embrace, and she slid into his arms, resting her reddened face onto his chest and letting her arms dangle freely.

She couldn't muster the energy to hug him back. "Claire, please." He whispered in her ear.

She just stood there, crying. All that pain letting itself out. She remembered the possibility of what they told her. Maybe there was a way to save him; wake him up.

'Wait for me, Leon. I'm coming after you.' she thought.

Chris didn't feel like talking, so he kept her in the hug. He stroked the back of her hair, calming her ever so slowly. Just like the past, words weren't needed, he just had to be there for her. Keep her in his arms until she felt better.

Truth be told, he didn't feel that well either.

"Don't give up hope. He'll wake up for you, I'm sure."

"Thank you . . . Thank you . . . " She said through tears.

 **...Thank you for reading, please leave a review...**

 **Thank you Angel wolf for helping me.**


	4. Chapter 4 It spreads

**Thank you** **C.K.1997 happy you love it.**

 **Thank you Ninja Sex Pot, you made my day :)**

 **Appreciated.** **LazyLuna I hope you like this one.**

 **Chapter 4. "So It Spreads . . ."**

* * *

Leon went over the room, searching for anything that could give him peace of mind. He rested for a little bit. The floor creaked around easily, so he travelled with caution.  
The man wouldn't take a chance given his previous experience's in this place. Up ahead was a door.

He cracked it open a bit, just enough to get a sliver of vision, and saw a wide, messy room. Fallen antics scattered out into the darkness, littering the old floor.

He peered into the hideous room, the floorboards creeping beneath him like old piano keys. It smelled that of a mausoleum, stygian and rotting.  
So he snuck into the chamber, trying desperately not to make much noise against the putrefied paneling.

A cold chill shot through the base of his neck, and the dust kicked up across the floor. He stopped in place, frozen forever.  
Leon scanned the room, looking desperately for anything he could to escape.

But there was nothing, nothing that he could see, anyway. It was so inky that, at best, he had roughly a foots worth field of vision.

A frigid voice greeted his ears, shaky and raspy.

"Eeeeh . . . It's passed your bedtime, sunny boy." It sent sparks down his spine as a candlelight flickered into being, revealing a filthy mirror and woman sitting on a stool across from it, staring into it . . .

Her dress was muddied, and her hair stiffly straw. He spotted a wound on her neck, and quickly realized it was broken.

Nevertheless, her head vibrated back and forth, making a sick cracking noise that grew louder with each snap.

"If you don't go to sleep . . . I'll have to ground you."

Deep down, he wanted nothing more than to go home, if she was just normal enough that he could go and be in her embrace again, for a moment of relief.

He crouched down and started moving between the mess.

To his left was the back of an old couch, while to his right was a grouping of old moving boxes and antiques.

His eyes caught the sight of another door. A way out.

Yes! He thought to himself, and felt butterflies swarm his stomach. Moving one leg forward, he tried to move as subtly as possible, crawling to the door.  
Inch by inch, little by little . . . getting there . . . almost close . . .

A sudden sound of crashing glass broke the creeping silence. Leon covered his mouth to avoid making any slight loud breath.

Leon turned and realized he could not escape this. She would locate him.

"RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA . . . Where are you, sweetie!? Let mommy give you a hug, just like what you did for me . . ." She contorted her neck and inhaled like a cancer patient.

The scream and the scratched-out voice barely resembled her, but thankfully, she still didn't know where he was, it seemed.

She'd thrown a glass snowflake he recognized as a decoration. Many, many, many Christmases ago, it hung on their wall . . .  
It clanged against the wall, breaking into a million pieces.

His legs trembled, threatening to buckle under him. Sweat dribbled from his left temple down to his shoulder.

He heard her stilted walking, the way she was trudging along the floor.

The man had to make a run for it.

Leon's eyes caught the sight of a large empty hole a few feet deep, for some odd reason.

He thought to himself, 'I have to find something to get out, that has to be the way! Without that, I'll be trapped here! With . . . her.'

Uttering a silent howl of frustration, Leon turned and ran for it.

The crawl space ended abruptly, stopping over at least a nine-foot drop to an empty tunnel.

His ears ringing, his mouth dry as dust, Leon grabbed the edges of the square hole, closed his eyes, and jumped.  
He swung out over the tube and let go as soon as he was straight up and down, falling and landing crooked as his right leg crumpled.

It hurt, but he hardly felt it. Thanks adrenaline.

Scrambling on hands and knees to get out of the way, he stared up at the hole to see if she was near . . .

"Mom . . . !" He whispered, clenching his fist. "I'm sorry."

He found himself in a carpeted room with a drab, faded coloring to the walls.  
There was a large table, well-cleaned, in front of a chimney, like someone was preparing for a dinner party.

Leon felt a powerful presence before him. He felt strange, and didn't know if what it was was friendly or not.

He heard echoes of footsteps somewhere close to him, but his flashlight could not pick up any kind of silhouette.

"Ken-nedy, my boy." He heard a deep, calm voice talk to him. He looked quickly to the left and he did not see a glimpse of anything.  
Then came a sense of sudden motionlessness, like time itself stopped for some reason.

The sound of one, lonely drop catching the tip of his shoes woke him up. His flashlight trailed down and there was the crimson color that seeped down to the ground.

Leon felt nothing at first, but the sense of dread engulfed him in mere seconds.

He did not want to move one step.

his flashlight trailed up to the ceiling, and a white hair was the very first thing he saw.  
A loud shout broke through his dry throat, as he jolted back. He kept the light shining still on the figure . . . up there.

The rough cheek bones and clean, swept to the side, greying hair. The glasses, the rugged face, it's all the same.

His arms were crossed as he watched Leon closely.

"A-Adam!?" The words came out of his mouth involuntarily.

The president fell over backwards and convulsed, pushing himself up again. His head kept twitching sideways.  
He looked like he was in the middle of a seizure, but . . . he was strangely peaceful.

"You-know, thsi reminds me . . . Of-that old-timey televi-sion show . . . What was it called again?" Adam sneered in a casual tone. His face held gentleness over the grotesqueness of his appearance.  
A half a smile appeared on his face.

He spasmed toward the door and motioned with his hand to follow.

Leon did not know what to think. The man had said something familiar. Was it from an old conversation they'd had? It does sound a lot like the man; the face and attitude.

His flashlight kept following Adam until he opened the door and vanished through a wall of dark.

He gulped and swallowed hard, and his throat crackled against the saliva. It felt soar now, raspy.  
Leon didn't remember the feeling of getting sick. Could he even get a disease here? He really didn't want to find out.

Trekking forward, he exercised caution as peeked his hand through. The surface reacted like a liquid, rippling as his fingers grazed by it.

A bead of sweat poored down to his eye, and he rubbed it away, annoyed.

It didn't feel bad, nor did it feel welcoming, but at least it felt safer than where he was. Time would tell how long it felt that way.

He swallowed again and placed his hand all the way inside it, then moving the rest of himself through. Once on the other side, he turned around and saw he'd just entered from a stone wall.

Leon grasped at the surface to see if it was an illusion.

No . . . No, there's no turning back.

The next room was quite large, possessing no significant structures to block his view.  
The barely lit room had a faded grey color, like time ate it up, and a crimson pigment splattered around it like a brutal corpse party had commenced moments ago.  
Lights stood, angling towards the cold, empty fire pit in the middle of the room, and a chair further beyond it. They seemed to be ready to interrogate whoever sat there next.

Leon took a step inside and his foot landed right into a few layers of blood.

 _Ichor pounded in his ears. His heart thumped within his chest. His hands shook. His feet tingled. He grabbed his chest tightly. Slowly he fell on his knees, collapsing upon the blood._

 _His vision disfigured, as if he were looking through a kaleidoscope lens. He had to get away. He could not stay near that place any longer.  
He swam to the center of the room and it had large dust and ash deposits mixed with dried gore. The room was a large square, now that he examined it a bit._

 _He continued around, his legs trembling, barely able to keep him balanced. He reached the door and clutched the knob, both hands wrapped so tightly around it that his nails dug into his palms.  
_

 _Breathing was hard._

 _Leon buried his face in the door and cried quietly, his chest growing tight as bile rose in his throat._

 _At last he felt himself calm down a little bit. He heaved a sigh and opened the door. He can do it, he can walk out of here._

Just when he thought he might have a stroke, his eyes adjusted to the dark at last, tensing himself to run . . . and the door opened into a small passage, a sterile concrete corridor.  
He fell against the wall and the door shut itself behind him. Shakily, the man grabbed onto the wall and used it as leverage. There was a dilemma here.

Whichever way he looked ran off into darkness.

And there were no signs telling him which way to go.

Left or right?

'Okay Kennedy, time to remember this.'

The few seconds that he hesitated could cost him his life - he still had only a small chance, but any chance at all was heartwarming.  
He'd heard once that when faced with a choice, most people instinctively turned in the direction of their dominant hand.

With the crappy luck he'd had throughout his long, long time in this place, he decided to go the other way. Left.

Leon ran, his wet boots hammering the floor, wondering if he should even bother.

Not far past the broken gate, Leon saw a walkway that crossed over the familiar train.

The stairs hidden by deep shadow . . . and his ears caught the irregular pounding of something getting closer to him behind.  
Each running step a violent slap of flesh against cement.  
The terror drove him on, his feet hardly touching the ground, not caring if he ran head-on into a wall in the deepening dark.

Maybe that would be best, it was tremendously powerful, it was too much of a sight to behold and he did not want to see anymore. He heard the ripping scrape of 'it's' clawed fingers plowing up concrete.  
He had maybe a second before that hand tore into him . . . and he dodged right again, throwing himself into a well of darkness just past the stairs.  
Something flew past, a mammoth maybe. It was a hulking blur, and he actually felt the wind from the thing moving hand him a whisper against his leg as he hit the cold floor.

Sharp pain shot up his arm once more, his elbow cracking hard against the cement.

However he ignored it, jumping to his feet, looking for any place to hide.

He'd gone the wrong way.

Twists and turns in the cold and empty place had led him to a storage room - a dead end.

Leon went ahead and hid behind a crate. He wanted to turn the light off just for a moment to be sure that thing was not following him.

"You cannot escape me! I will find you!" He heard the dreaded voice once again.

He turned with the flashlight raised, and saw the priest with his face completely covered with something.  
It resembles a dirty mask, slowly he raised the bloody cleaver coming toward him.

"It's almost time." The priest whispered in a cold menacing tone. "For the one to revive."

"What one!?" Leon heaved the words. But the man stayed silent and brought down the knife . . . targeting his head.

And with what felt like the very last of his strength, he forced himself into a quick dodge and a stumbling run.  
He was too exhausted to feel disappointed, and worry about where was he going gripped his mind. Still, he wished that things were different; it took all of his energy just to keep moving.

He'd make it; either way, he didn't think he'd be surprised.

By the end of the walk way, he was faced with a heavy double door made of stone. The grinding sound of rock-on-rock filled his ears as he but his full strength to open the door.

He stopped once the doors were open, staring in disbelief. It looked like an alter of some kind.

There was a large pedestal in the middle of the room, and five large turntables wound with rope on each side of the circular altar.

Leon took a numb step around, gazing at the dribbling, meaty mess still stained on the altar.

 _CRREEAAAK!_

One of the turntables began twisting, and he closed his eyes.  
He could almost hear it, the howl of pain before her limp limbs popped from their sockets and men tugging the ropes tighter and tighter on her arms and legs, bringing the blood.

"Stop . . . Stop it, you monsters." Leon opened his eyes, his breath quickening. "Mother."

His eyes were locked to the pedestal.

"No, no . . . This can't- this isn't . . ." He saw black hair draped over to the ground, the outline of the limbs impossibly long. "It's just my mind- . . . has to be-"

He stepped closer, wanting to make it all go away.

Grasping the cloth, the texture was damp and spongy. He held back the urge to vomit and squeezed his eyes closed, then pulled the cloth.

And . . .

Nothing was there. Only the dried blood stains, among them several pieces of rotted flesh.

Leon choked up, nearly vomiting as he put his hands on his knees, stepping away.

He blinked his eyes and, and attempted to calm himself. But the thought was stopped short as a hand appeared from the other side of the table.

Leon jolted back as the limb pulled up, the stretched ligaments pulling a head of black hair into view. His throat tightened, his respiration growing frantic.

He rounded the turntable and darted out of the door.

. . .

The nurse came over and put a warm cloth over Leon's feverish forehead. Another burst of quickened inhale could be heard through his frowning face.

Those eyes closed tightly.

"Mister Kennedy . . . hang on, we are going to fix you." She whispered sincerely. Some part of her thought maybe he could hear her.

Chris was sitting on the left side of the bed . . . just waiting.

Claire had promised him she'd return fast, saying something along the lines of doing some research to help his sickness.

As much as he wanted to go with her just to make sure she was fine, this was something for her to do, and he respected that.  
Within minutes, he heard Claire's running footsteps and the door opened roughly.

She stood with her hand supporting her weight over the wall. Her other hand was filled with a stack of papers. "Chris, you won't believe this!"  
After a moment of standing to relax her tired bones, she rushed over and took a seat next to him.

Opened a red file in her hand, she handed him the very first paper.

It was titled, ***Coma/Lies: Possible Outbreak.***

 **Strange comatose cases seem to be spreading over a small town near the coast.**

 **14 people are recorded to have the same symptoms, with no real way to cure it . . .**

Another paper was thrown into his hands. ***5 victims of a mysteries coma.***

"Do you see this?" Claire said."This isn't something out of nowhere happening here. There is, like, nineteen victims years ago of an unknown illness.  
The only recorded survivor said they were pulled into a place, where she met strange people, but that caused her have a serious case of PTSD."

Chris stared at her for a moment, then said, "Well, where'd you get these?"

"Oh, you know, called in a few favors here and there." She responded.

Chris grunted as he sat up in the chair. "All right, okay. Lets get to it, maybe you can share some with the doctors." He said, almost enthusiastic as she was.

"Already on it, sent copies to the head doctor's and spoke with them about a solution." She said. Chris raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, i got kinda carried away." She said, and as she dug her way through the stack she'd brought in, she felt his hands on her shoulders.

"Claire, you've been up all night, just relax, he's the one we should be worried about."

She grunted at him, "I am, okay? And i haven't just been sitting around doing nothing."

"What are you saying?" He eyed her coldly.

"Nothing . . ." She said, continuing to go through the files.

Chris rubbed his forehead and laid back upon the chair. "So what do we have so far?"

Claire froze, her face falling to the ground.

"Nothing useful. Other then one thing. I've already spoken with everyone, they're all set to get me prepped to try it out."

He glared at her, "Uh, you mind telling me then, since you got everyone else on board?"

"I 'follow' him. A medically induced coma."

Redfield eyes glistened worryingly. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, you are _not_ going to do that."

Claire's expression changed to a sorrowful smile.

"Chris, I'm already infected. The first night I left Leon, I've been having strange dreams. They feel too real. And they're all about a place where I can find him.  
I can go there willingly. Don't ask me how, but I know it, I can. And _I_ might be able to help get him out."

"What the hell are you talking about!?" He asked, becoming distressed.

"The manor lures the depressed and weakened into itself." She whispered softly, motioning him with a file. He looked through it and came up confused.

She held both his cheeks, "I have to go there. I have to help him."

Claire leaned in and gently kissed his forehead.

"I love you. Don't ever think i don't." She was about to stand up when his hand stopped her.

Claire looked back at her brother.

"Claire I won't let you do this. What if you never wake up?" Tears weren't far away. "This is insane, please! What the hell kind of logic is this!? Maybe there's something else we could do to help him."

She sighed and held his hand tightly. "I can't stand here and do nothing."

"Why not?" He shouted standing up to face her.

Claire bit her lips and stayed silent for a moment.

"Because I love him." she admitted. "I won't watch him die slowly. Not another one. Not again. I'm sure you would do the same if it was Jill in a coma."

Chris ripped his hand away, shocked. His eyes watered up.

But, judging by the expression etched in his face, Chris somewhat came to understand. Without many words, he accepted it, and laid back.

The moment was cut short when the lights inside the room started to flicker. The siblings watched, surprised by the sudden surge of power.  
Claire saw the machines linked to Leon flicker on and off.

"What's happening?" She said, terrified. Chris moved forward to Leon's bed and kept his eyes on him.

"Nurse? . . . Nurse!? Someone!?" He shouted.

Two women rushed through the room, but they stopped midway when they noticed what was happening.

"Why . . . ?" One of them whispered.

"Fix the power, do you want your patients to die?" Chris was half-emotional, half-panicked.

The two exchanged looks, "Sir, the power is fine. We don't have any electrical issues." Once the nurses stopped talking, the light returned to normal once more.

Claire closed her eyes, trying to find a moment to breath and calm her racing heart.  
However the moment was cut short when the sound of a blood chilling scream filled the whole building.

Everyone in the room rushed out to see, though the woman gathered behind Chris for protection. What's going on?

People were running, and by the end of the hall stood something mysterious.  
The strange humanoid stomped forward and Claire stole a glance at the figure.

The sight could turn anyone into a stone.

It's snake-like, emerald green eyes darted around emotionless. It's rotting lips were already half-weathered to the bone. It's neck turned, and then a long, befuddled moan followed.  
It made Chris' blood go cold. Judging by the creatures clothes, it walked out of the morgue.

"No way . . . " Claire whispered.

"You gotta be kiddin me." Chris stated flatly.

Within seconds, more sounds followed behind the ghoul. And a group of nine corpses came into view. They twisted around, like they had no real idea of how to operate their bodies anymore.  
Creeping forward in strange dances, the manifestations made their way towards humans.

The tall one's cracking limbs and malformed skin made it look like a giant, frost-bitten boar.

Chris knew all too well what it had to be.

He moved in front of any civilians and shouted, "Everyone, get out of here now!"

The tall one screeched something foul and terrible, harkening back to the days of medieval beast and folklore with it's shrill howl.  
Stampeding through the halls, Chris had put himself between the fleeing patients and staff and rotting zombies coming their way. Oddly enough, he had just enough life experience to get through.

Chris darted backward forcing all those behind him through any available room as quickly as possible.

And like that, the monster's began their chase, preying upon the flustered staff.

One idiotic doctor walked out casually and looked over lackadaisically to the monsters, unable to change his fate now when a giant, malformed hand grabbed his head and juiced like a small fruit.  
His carcass laid on the ground before Chris, who'd admittedly seen worse, but that was a damn close second.

He had to improvise, and so Chris shoved an IV unit at the beast, with the small metal crashing against the beast and tripping it onto it's feet, and the slower corpses were easy to outrun.  
He fled the group towards the reception area and successfully managed to get to the door, only for the doctors to discover the town's graves empty and its restless souls plying midnlessly at the glass.

Oh shit.

Chris grabbed the pistol he had to leave in a box at reception and took aim, firing into the heads of three smaller fair, and they stopped moving . . . only briefly.

They weren't dying, they kept getting back up, some without a head. What the hell kind of infection was this!?

THe doctors began herding the patients upstairs and began grabbing any useful items they could as more and more corpses poured from the basement morgue.  
At the least there was more than one way upstairs, and they all were coming for this entrance.

Chris screamed behind him, "Get everyone upstairs, board it off now! Do not let anything pass, board up every single, possible exit!"

He stayed behind to deal with the encroaching pests, hellbent on allowing the others to survive.

That was the last Claire saw of him as she was shoved upstairs by the human horde.  
The last image she could see was of him alone, his back faced to her, left with an uncertain fate.

All the orderlies did what was asked and began making barricades, shutting the doors as quickly as they could and shoving furniture up against them.  
Just before they could shut the final door, a hand grabbed the edge and forcibly held it open.

Everyone froze in horror, as . . .

Chris Redfield darted through and shut the door closed, grabbing a desk throwing it up against the wall.

He spoke to the doctor who'd been treating Leon, "You have any nails?"

The man struggled to think but then nodded.

"Good, hammer them in, I'll be back." He said as he ran toward the other end of the upstairs, past a semi-reassured Claire.

He dashed through and glided downstairs. Thankfully, none of the monster's had made their way back here, so he silently snuck to Leon's room, intent to retrieve the comatose man.

Chris heard a creak, and his heart nearly punched out of his chest. Thankfully, it was just a fallen over tank of gas, and so he kept sneaking into Leon's room.

He had a minute to get him back upstairs without alerting any of the necrotics. So he grabbed the man and unplugged him as gingerly as possible.  
Next came lifting him out of bed, he flung the man over his shoulder. He wouldn't die today.

In the rush of things, it seemed Chris could be a real action hero. Nonetheless, the man barreled down the hallway, his heart beating irregular.  
Rushing down the hallway, he had to be especially quick, maybe about a minute or so, or Leon might die upon his shoulder.

And then heard a roar that made his blood freeze over.

He scrambled and plodded along, as a rage-filled entity warbled behind, drawing ever so close with it's mangled fists and viridescent eyes.

There in the dark, the monster chasing him, the stairs an arduous task, and his arms and legs already tired.

* * *

 **Upstairs . . .**

* * *

Claire entered the room she was told to be in.  
This one was a little smaller and closer to where Leon and two patients would be placed. The doctor stood with his hands behind his back.

"Are you sure about this miss Redfield? I won't be responsible if something happens to you."

Claire felt her heart bounce within her chest, like it wants to push it's way out.

But she already made up her mind.

She laid on the bed, and watched the ceiling for no reason, just a little habit to keep her calm.  
They all had yet to know if Chris would make it back.

"Yes, I have to. You won't be charged with anything, I promise. Please, be safe and stay here with me, until Chris figures out what's going on."

The doctor nodded and took her right arm close to the side, prepared the needle. "Best of luck. I want you to count from five."

Claire swallowed a lump in her throat as she felt the needle push inside her arm.  
A fluid escaped into her veins, biting through them like an animal.

It was cold, inducing a flaring pain going up her shoulder.

"Five . . . four . . ." Fog started to gather over the ceiling.

"Three . . . " She felt her arms melt like noodles, growing wispier until they vanished.

"Two . . . O-One."

Once her lips spoke the number she started falling into darkness.

. . .

Chills flushed over her body. A frigid surge like it was the middle of winter.  
Once Claire opened her eyes, she was once again in front of the entrance. The mansion . . .

"I'm here. I'm coming . . ." she whispered and jogged through the gateway.

Once her foot touched the flooring inside, she heard a loud crash behind her . . . it startled her to the point where she screamed.

Swiftly turning around, she stared at it.

The entrance door has been sealed shut with something covering the handles. "Wh-what the . . . What in the world-?" she remarked.

Claire realized the place barely had any light, with only a few candles over a wooded stairs.  
But something on the ground was shining.

"A flashlight?" Her voice was filled with hope as she knelt down and took it.

Once she focused the light up ahead, there stood a girl watching her blankly.  
Claire tensed slightly, many questions going through her mind.

Where did she come from? Was she there the whole time, but she hadn't noticed until just now?

The girl outstretched her arm and pointed to the left door in the small entrance way. "The one you seek is over here . . ."

She said this monotone, and started stuttering toward the door.

"Wait who are you?" Claire asked and followed her, a small child with long raven hair. **.**

 **Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed reading this. Please leave a review, what do you think so far?**

 **Special thanks to my beta reader Angel wolf for his help.**


	5. Note

Posted just for everything to be organized again.


	6. Chapter 5 - Unforgiven

**I'm back, it's been a long time.**

 **Chapter 5 - Unforgiven**

* * *

"Where am I . . . ?" She spoke quietly.

Claire continued ahead, slowly from where she stood . . . Sounds like a wooden floor? It wasn't before . . .

It groaned in protest, seemingly louder in the quiet as death widened the hall. Her auburn hair was held in a pony tail. Her outfit was a black t-shit, a black-pink shorts and a brown boots.  
This was something long ago old, a forgotten memory more than any kind of clothes-change. It struck her as bizarre, but then again, she didn't ever feel so consumed by a place.  
It was unlike anything she'd ever felt, like a midden of corpses across a blackened valley, the rain drizzling down on cursed bodies. The stench of ancient death roamed freely, and a dark spot formed.

From it spawned ripples, the spot growing ever larger as it became apparent its form was liquid.

Whatever little light spawned here in these damp halls reflected off the black water some blues and minor browns. Ugly was the word.

In from the rippling space, the advent of it's shape growing quite large before her, it engulfed the wall itself, banister and all.

Such was the realm's nature, a brevity of growing evil . . . From this black liquid emerged a mirror, and she saw her reflection clearly.

"What am I wearing? I thought I got rid of this outfit years ago . . ." Her though trailed, wandering far.

When had she worn it? It was so passé, despite it's strange familiarity. Prying her mind was harder than before, things seemed cloudy.  
Then, it hit her. It was the exact outfit she had been wearing the night she went to Raccoon city. She'd been looking for Chris.

'H-. . . How could I forget that?'

She looked around as she wondered what triggered the mirror's arrival.

"W-Where am I?" She murmured once more.

A quick 180 turn, and the bridge of her nose hit something. Her eyes widened and she jumped back, nearly falling to the floor. It was a rope. A noose hung from the ceiling beam.  
She looked around the swelling room in fear, her eyes growing wider and her breath quickening every second. The entire building began to creek like insanity, relentlessly shifting beneath her.  
All around her, in fact. Then, suddenly, ropes were hanging from every support beam.

This was a room to execute people, to let them stay there on display.

"No . . . It can't be!" She sputtered as she crawled slowly through the middle of the wide place.

Her eyes turned forward, and she was met with her own reflection in the rectangle mirror up ahead. But the reflection was no longer hers. Something changed, it was different, as the building quieted.  
What type of consequence machine was this? It seeped a horrifying batch of black veins from it's edge. They sought to infect all others, and yet, she remained still. Fear hadn't quite gripped her like this.  
She'd been in far worse situations, seen worse things . . . What was so scary about this?

"Who-?" She squawked. Looking down, her breath hitched in her throat.

A pink sleeveless jacket with an angel imprinted on the back. It was _covered_ in blood. An all time low, how did it become this way? What deceiver left her this ghastly present?

She bent down, hesitantly picking the article up.

'I don't want to remember.' She thought back, as it was sad.

"The past! It's the past." She whispered to herself, tears springing to her eyes. She put a hand to her face and cried softly to herself.

No more Raccoon City. No more Sherry . . .

Following tears came rage, and her fists clenched as she slammed her fist into the mirror. The twisted copy responded in kind, and the mirror shattered on contact, revealing the way forward.  
It was a dark, sludgy tunnel, made from something indeterminable. Parasitic entities occasionally emerged from the walls, but they couldn't break farther than a few inches.  
The pain was still there, after all these years . . . What had she done to deserve this? What had she done to make a place such as this a cosmic torture? Leon flashed in her mind, and she stopped.

She pounded her chest, and choked out this emotion. She wouldn't be beaten by an illusion, much less one as devious as this.

Stepping up, she quickly headed toward the path.

Nonetheless, she couldn't help herself with an emotional comment afterwards, "Please . . . _Forgive me . . ._ I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Claire heard a familiar whisper from within the dark corridor. She looked quickly to the left and saw a glimpse of brown hair and a light-blue shirt.

"Leon!"  
She called after him, chasing after the figure.

Turning right, the woman came face first with a dozen crows, fluttering in front of the only door Leon could have gone through. She wanted to try and walk in, but . . .  
The crows were bone thin, completely emaciated. Along their faces ran tears of blood, a surreal depiction of death.

A lack of feathers exposed the rib-cages, displaying rotten black flesh to match their dark wings.

The birds noticed her and they started rattling in unison. Unusually loud.

She tried to pass through, but they pecked at her, nearly chomping her flesh. The fetid smells of dead things trailed back with her.  
They wouldn't let her pass, a clear sign of hatred from these undead things. On her shoulder lay a blood smear, a reminder of their grim appearance.  
She stepped back into a pool of blood, and a sudden shift in realms occured.

"How did he go through there?" She wondered. Claire bit her lips, unaware of the change behind.

Turning round, she saw a large open factory. The metal grating mismatched the midwestern home she'd previously been trapped in, but it felt the same. Minimal lighting and a clear sense of dread.  
At the end of the raised walkway stood a staircase downward, into the stygian abyss below. Not one bit of light came her way, and she wasn't sure how it would be when she got down there.  
The crows still chattered by the door, and she looked down below them, beneath their side of the walkway.

Her eyes caught the sight of a space under the platform. It was an obvious open doorway, with a clear view of the room inside.

Inside was a fully-furnished living room with a hardwood floor and a plastic manikin lying motionless on it's back. It looked like it had almost been assaulted by something.

'Huh?'

That was about the only thing she could think of. How in the world did a nice-looking house become connected to a rusted up factory like this?  
Nonetheless, she had to investigate. Taking a breath, she began stepping down the stairs and pushed herself through the darkness. It was like a thick fog.  
It was pitch black, bearing down on her like cinder blocks.

'I can do this . . . I've been through worse, theoretically . . .'

Deep down, she prayed for a light, any kind. Something to illuminate the black corridors and wash away her fear.

Her body felt heavy, at 39 it felt like a constant struggle to do the things that were so easy in her prime.

The ground creaked beneath her, like an earthquake. Suddenly, a hand grasped her forearm.  
It felt slimy and squalid, like a rotting corpse. She whipped her head around and met crimson eyes.

Claire let out a scream as the ground gave in and she fell from what it felt like 40 meters high. The thing that touched her growled a heinous maw, sounding stretched and warbled.  
She didn't know how she would escape this, nor where she was falling to, but she had to put as much distance between herself and the creature as possible.

Within seconds she landed with a painful thud.

Claire moaned from the pain spreading in her entire body. The simple task of moving her head caused a horrible sense of dizziness, like the whole place was twisting out of shape.  
The red eyes hovered around, discombobulated as it began to recover. She scrambled back, not caring if her flesh was ripped or scraped by the floor.  
It made a horrible moaning, as if it's throat had razor's through it's skin. She remembered this, it was a ghoul . . . A T-virus host . . . A zombie. The rotting cadaver staggered toward her, wanting warmth.

"Drrrr . . ." It rumbled, dragging on it's decayed tendons.

She fell back on her instincts, forgetting all she knew.  
What was this place? Why did it bring this monstrosity back to taunt her?  
If this is what it did to her, what must Leon be going through?

She heard Chris's voice, 'We're all making it out of this alive. Claire, watch your back!' Right, she had to be above it.

She rolled over, hiking her knees above her head. She managed to toss herself back over the rubble of this place.  
That monster, this ex-human came for her, it's face beginning to form more clearly when her eyes adjusted. She could see it's jaw was torn off, it's demonic eyes festering.  
She clenched her fists and twisted around. Her environment was destroyed, but there was a hallway behind her.

Potential escape? It would have to be.

The mutate stumbled after her, and she flipped her leg around, attacking with a roundhouse kick.

The blow hit the undead's mutilated cheek, and it flopped down, writhing.

She returned quickly to the direction of the hall, and noticed it was a sewer tunnel. She jetted across the sideway, scrambling far from her peril. The old tunnel curved around, it's stone walls sturdy.  
The girl kept running, passing endless dark halls as a brevity of growls began to grow nearer to her. She couldn't tell whether she was running towards or away from it, it sounded like a swarm.  
There was a horde of them alright, it took her only a moment to find them when she crossed a tunnel.

Within the darkness, a barrage of children, savage and blind, came running toward her; heads caved in, weeping tears of blood.  
Their tissue looked green and sickly, infected by fungal diseases. She kept running, taking the other pathway to her left.  
The interiors looked like a Christian castle, a festering dungeon from the Anglo-Saxon days of Britain.

She kept pushing herself forward, legs coming undone. Every muscle fiber screamed to stop, but the screaming children begged for her throat.

Out of nowhere the place fell silent, to the point she could only hear her own breath and heart beat.

The children ceased, their tingling cries vanishing into the darkness. She didn't know what had swallowed them whole, but she was at least grateful they were all gone.  
Still, she could hear the red-eyed beast of earlier grumbling to her, calling out despite not being close. It's echo bounced all around the room, hateful.

A young girl's voice broke through death's growls.  
Once Claire turned back around, right in front of her stood a girl with a hammer and a spike in her small hands.

With black hair that covered her face almost wholly, it was an unnerving sight.

"W-Who are you?" She asked with all the strength she could muster.

The little girl grew closer.

"Hey, come on tell me what your name is! How long have you been here?" Claire's statements rang hollow.

The girl laughed as it drew closer, devoid of emotions.

Claire suddenly felt a surge, and knew this being was not human.

And yet, it was too late, as the minuscule creature reached her wrist, and slammed the stick into the palm of her left hand.  
A scream ripped through her, and a burning sensation engulfed her arm and neck. Regret and desperation flung themselves through her chest.  
Her flesh melted ever so slowly.

Once she checked her arm, a dark blue patch of ink appeared.

It spread across her flesh, stretching into the visage of a lion. The lion . . .

A fearful idea now suddenly drove torrents of blood to her ever-racing heart.

This mark . . . What does it mean?  
Was it an actual curse going on here? She had to know now, there was a longing question.

Her body trembled as she pulled herself up, there is only one way to get out of this hole . . . Whatever it is.  
Across her way was a drained sewer and a ladder leading up. Well, only one way to go if she remembered.

That little girl, whose raven hair flowed for many feet, had all but vanished. In a moment of supra cosmic agency, a void of distortion formed around her, and the space itself expanded.  
Then, like glass bending and then shattering, the girl was gone. Disappearing from this brimstone land, lacking a trail of sound or material.

Limping toward the door, Claire slowly turned the handle and went through . . . However the sight inside made her wish to turn back.

Claire stood on legs she barely felt, staring in disbelief at the leaping fire, from a crashed helicopter.

Deja vu.

Well, Deja Vecu.

She'd gotten the strangest feeling of having already lived through this before.

"This is-. . . This is the RCPD rooftop!" Claire took a step back. Her heel hit a solid object. Turning around, her sight met nothingness, save for a view of an old, long gone city. That door was lost.

Her foot had backed up into the concrete guard across the perimeter of the roof.

Looking around, the steel stairs welcomed her sight and that old backyard.

She froze for a moment, tears threatening to leak. "No . . . No, no, no, no, _no!_ It's not possible! What is this!?" She ranted to no one.

In the midst of it all, she heard it.

A distant, barely audible voice echoing in the dark-cold night.

"Someone . . . Please help me, wake me up."

"Leon?" She whispered, eyes wide.

Right up ahead she saw a familiar, brown-haired figure entering the door.

"Wait!?" She hurried after him and kicked the door open.

The familiar hall welcomed her, but the darkness cut so thick it was unbearable.

A cool breeze ruffled through the shattered windows that lined in the both sides of the hall.  
There were shiny black feathers stuck in the streaks of blood that painted the floorboards, and their wavering movement had her jerking the semiautomatic toward every shadow.  
As if she was crippled by her thoughts, her body felt burning cold. The murky clouds outside released their brown texture into the void below. Like that, her weapon dematerialized.

"Wait a minute, this again . . .!"

The hall ended with a wooden door, but there was a rattling sound from the walls. They felt brittle to their structure, like they weren't real.  
Her heart felt like it was about to burst as she slowly made her way through.

The police station's wide front hall looked almost the exact same, but something was wrong about it. It was imperceivable, almost dreamlike.

With the entrance, her head hung heavy. It looked heavily boarded.

Right upahead, Leon was standing near the receptionist desk.

A bright smile graced her face, "Leon, thank god. Come on, we have to go!"

She ran to him.

The man turned to face her, and the look in his face stopped her dead. An expression she'd never seen him have before, like a wild blood lust. She stopped a foot away from him and waited.  
But his reaction never came.

"Come on, we gotta get out of here! T-together . . ." She stated, slowly shifting her realization.

Leon slowly started walking toward her, his trot unnervingly calm.  
And in a blink of her eye's, everything changed.

In Leon's place was something truly horrible to see. A naked-bald man, forced on all fours, his limbs twisted to odd angles.  
Such was the nature of this contortion that they could not have done so naturally, they were broken and never reset. In place of retina's were both side's of the socket married together vertically, stitched.  
Puss seeped from the corner's of it's mouth, and a limpid, vestigial third arm lay hanging pasty from it's jagged rib cage.

Claire began to hyperventilate, backtracking from this unexpected horror.

Her eyes focused on the monstrosity, unable to comprehend it's broken structure.

This was no zombie, only a savage thing that should not be, a Lovecraftian construct ripped straight from an unpublished nightmare.  
She stutter stepped away, too afraid that the very moment she turns her back on it, the former-man will jump and attack her.

The creature made some clicking noises with it's mouth, raising hell within her mind as it seemed to be communicating a language of hate.

Her lack of response made things infinitely worse.

The creature screeched the most horrible sound she could imagine and she lost her balance, falling back on her rear.

Every limb in her body shook uncontrollably. It was so human, more human than any monster she'd fought in a laboratory, or any demonic mutant escaped to the streets.  
She had nothing to defend herself. No gun or knife left over in her clothes.

At the right side of her periphery, the little girl again emerged near the double door, "Poor soul . . . This way. Run."

Claire bit her lip and made a run for it, without looking back. A loud moan erupted from behind, the creature stomping when it sensed her flee.  
Pestilence was it's name, a blight of body degeneration made physical. The way it unnaturally jerked after her, it's regressive, chunky teeth nearly nipping at her legs; her spine electrified instantly.  
She could hear the creature scurrying after her, like the sound of a mutt sprinting, but it was so much older. There was a more primal aggression here.  
The ground felt rickety, and despite its loose nature, held up somehow beneath her trepidatious feet. The beast kept coming, it's bizarre moaning making her skin crawl.

The door was far from her reach, much farther than she ever wanted it to be.

How would she make it in time? The malformed savage behind her was certainly faster than a 126 pound woman. Suddenly, she felt a burst of speed, her legs breaking their age-related limits.  
She gained the advantage in tempo, racing far faster than the beast could account for. She heard it continue after her, intent to tear her apart, so she kept it up, going as fast as possible.

She crashed through the door and shut it behind her immediately.

The creature bashed it's head into the barrier, a blackened roar to the sky emerged as the rickety construction of the hall gave way, the beast plummeting to an unknown destination.

To herself, to this crooked world, she couldn't be sure if nothing remained behind the door. She stayed there for three more minutes, holding the door shut with her body tensed.

Slowly Claire fell on her knees, feeling like she'd run a marathon. Her skin drenched in sweat, she took a load off, laying against the much-sturdier wall with her head down for a moment.

She then said to herself, "I'm trapped in a Silent Hill, Jesus Christ!"

. . .

Chris hesitated to open the door. He'd just gotten Leon to medical safety, but now he was thinking about trekking outside again. . . Where those 'things' were.

He hesitated. This would be exceedingly dumb if he didn't play it right. Hell, it was a really bad idea as he thought it over right now.  
Still, they needed to know what they were up against here. Was it a B.O.W.? Or was is something else? They needed something to work with.

With a reluctant doctor, he opened the door and they closed it as quietly as possible.

He travelled down to the silent ground floor.

Taking in the stained footprints, he felt a sense of emptiness as the mood dropped. A subtle hum could be heard in the background, from what machine he had no idea.  
The zombie's were scattered all over the place. Strange feelings he had about them, he realized he was alone in this; whoever had started, they weren't here anymore.  
He hoped it was an actual person who started this, but he couldn't shake this nagging feeling it was different.

No wind, no breeze from the AC. . . and yet a piece of paper rolled across the floor. The day was preparing the stage of night, darkness eclipsed all that remained outside.

He moved silently, keeping as far away from the slumbering dead as he could.

Why was it so cold?

A voice in his ear cut out the silence.

"Captain Redfield, I'm at the doors, we've brought the equipment you requested." A male voice.

"Copy." Chris answered, quietly. "Be very careful, this threat is different. The mutants won't die even if you shoot them in the head. I don't know what's going on."

"I hope I'll be able to get an answer." The man answered on the other line. "Report back as soon as possible."

"Roger." Chris murmured one last time. He focused himself on the task ahead.

He could hear the sound of the hospital's front glass door opening.

The man started making loud noises, attracting the whimpering zombies toward him. But to Chris's luck there were two corpses blocking his way. . . Time to go to the morgue.  
They awoke with violent screams, echoing all throughout the halls. Instantly, they began to survey their prey and staggered forward alarmingly fast.  
Forced to aim, Chris fired two clean shots, one bullet for each head. They powered through, punching bloody holes in their foreheads. Blood slowly ran down their decaying faces.

Still they came for him, his accuracy damned by their everlasting.

One grappled him by the throat, the other coming dangerously close to his outstretched arms.

He threw out his right leg, kicking the monster away into the receptionist's desk two feet away. It collapsed on the floor, glassy eyed, but returned to it's feet.  
Oddly, it looked human as it did so, recalling the concept of standing. He had placed his hands against the grey-skinned cadaver's shoulder's and throat.  
It kept screaming at him, and he heard the ruffling sounds of other zombies as they began to search for him, shuffling faster than he'd encountered yet.

They held no quarter for him, smashing objects red-eyed.

The other returned quickly, but he threw the one he was grappling with over the side of the desk. Drawing again, he shot it's left eye, and the entirety of it's left lobe sprayed the wall.  
Still it would not stop, falling over and crawling to him as he could hear the hordes growing closer. Time to run.

He took the chance and sprinted off toward the main door, down the stained hallway.

Chris burst through the thick entrance, and quickly shut the doors. He shoved his knife over the handles, hoping it will hold anything that tried to come after him.

It was growing colder. Several beds were turned upside down. Sheets were blemished by a strange substance.

He frowned, unable to reason out what the gunk was. There was a vague odor in the air, a faint scent of something unpleasant, something familiar.  
He stood in the doorway another moment, trying to place the smell. No, it's not rotten flesh, not the 'zombie smell.'

What is this?

He took out his phone and dialed.

.

.

"Jill. . . You got anything?" He asked immediately.

"Sorry. What little I've gathered from what you sent me; it seems like there's nothing to prove an infection."

"W-What!?"

Jill was silent for a moment, unsure how to tell him.

"I couldn't find anything useful. Here's the kicker, Leon's test you sent me showed some kind of toxic poison. Something derived from the progenitor virus.  
From the recent investigation, it might suggest that Maria Gomez is involved somehow."

Chris clicked his fingers.

"A poison! So it's an actual sickness, I knew it. That must be why it doesn't match any of the other viruses. Maybe she's targeting Leon for a revenge."

"Chris!" She stopped him, "This doesn't explain anything. A poison like this would cause him to have something like a daydream, it never causes a coma."

His face darkened, the optimism leaving.

"The poison matches nothing that you described of his condition, or the other victims for that matter."

"You're joking right?" He asked.

"I wish I was. It doesn't seem that the poison is the cause. Rebecca is double checking as we speak, hopefully she will figure out something."

A blackened roar filled his ears, this couldn't be happening. It wasn't anything they had ever faced before.

"Alright, keep me updated." He said flatly, ending the call.

He started looking around.

* * *

. . .

* * *

It was freezing now, the night time knowing no comfort as warmth. Dread filled him as he stood motionless. He strained against the silent buzzing. It screamed at him, mocking him.  
No more footsteps. They'd all fallen asleep again. Ravens flocked outside, how peculiar. . .

He was safe for now. At least that much seemed true, but he knew better.

The familiar library was deathly silent, as always. . . But this time, there wasn't any light. Too dark . . . The flashlight barely pierced the black veil.

Nevertheless, he continued to walk, slowly biding his time as he sought to minimize his noise-level. The man listened for any deviant echoes that might trail behind him.  
Craning his neck for the front, the double door leading on to the next floor was right there, beyond the foyer. It was the way that would lead to the waiting room.

Maybe he can rest there for just a moment. If memory serves it was the only room in the entire station that seemed to be safe, untouched by the dead.

Yet, the darkness tricked him; though walking on, the door perennially felt far from his reach.

He was tired, feeling haggard from the touch of this place. But he knew he couldn't risk resting at any point, for the fear that masked priest might chase him again.

But, he was also sick of running away.

Suddenly, a lifeless voice rasped to him.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word . . .  
MaMa's gonna buy, buy . . . You a _mockingbiiiiiiiird_ . . ."

His knees quivered, the broken voice feeling inches away. His breath hitched in his throat, and a second set of footsteps echoed behind his own.  
The tide of dread rose on his shoulders, faster and faster, until . . . Until a cold wrinkly hand brushed his shoulder.

"No!" He screamed, bolting forward faster than he thought himself capable. He didn't want to see what was behind him. The door, almost there. . .

"I knew you would be a policeman sweetey. I _LOooove youuUuu_." The voice echoed the moment he touched the knob.

. . .

A distorted scream broke his mind, twisting the scene to an older day.

* * *

A cheerful hoorah disturbed the silence in the front yard as a 21-year-old man run in and broke through the door.

A middle-aged couple hurried toward him, answering the door, "Leon?"

A man who looked similar to the boy was the one who spoke.

"Dad, I made it! I've been assigned to work in Raccoon city!" He replied barely containing his happiness. It'd been a long goal for him to make the force.

Something he needed after the recent break up.

"I knew you would be a policeman sweetey! I love you." Melissa commented.

* * *

. . .

Bursting through the door, he was back in the police station's front hall. He can see everything, but it was elongated. The room seemed stretched, broken out of form somehow.  
The door of the waiting room was ahead, but it looked crooked, malformed out of place.

"What the hell happened. . . ?" He whispered and started jogging, his stamina stressed.

Just the thought of something slightly safe was overwhelming him with happiness. He no longer knew how long it had been since he arrived here. Just a shard of hope is enough.

The moment he was almost there, he heard the sound of the door below opening.

"Who's that!?" He got closer to the broken railing and for a moment he saw pink shorts and red hair going through.

"Claire!? She is here!"

The figure replayed in his mind for a moment.

"N-. . . No. No, another trick." He convinced himself and entered the room that would lead downstairs. Like always, the chamber looked kinda brownish because of the furniture.  
A leather couch, wide enough for two, and a counter nearby greeted him, a notepad placed on it. A metal box sat in the corner on the side, nearby the way out.

Leon crashed on the couch, face buried in his hands.

"Good god. . . I need to find a way out of- Where ever this is." He muttered, tired and bitter, "Why am I here?"

"So very cowardly." He heard a deep voice rumble before him.

his head shot up, there he was. . . The demon priest.

"So much damage you inflicted, so many restless nights, yet you still say 'I.' Such selfishness."

Leon pulled himself off the couch and faced the man-. . . thing.  
Tired of running, he would confront one of his pursuers.

"I tried to help anyone I could! I fought for the safety of everyone, made it so that another Raccoon City wasn't possible! Who are you to tell me what I am!? Who are you!?" He growled.

The noise of his barks filled the abandoned station with pride, a dark loathing.

Without any kind of reason, the priest slowly sat on his knees, and bowed to him.

"If anyone walks in the night, they stumble, because the light is not with them. I am the light of the world, whoever follows me will not walk in darkness."

Everything around Leon warped into a vast desert, a silent storm calmly breezing above. The sand was brown and damp, it just rained.

Whips cracked once, reverberating all around him, a mans cries baying through the darkness of the land. Leon wandered, the priest gone from his site.  
He found the crying man, though he wish he hadn't. From the cross he was nailed to dripped Apollyon's lifeblood, Gehenna's black savior. Twisting and corrupting the grounds.  
Children, rendered savage and blind crawled from holes across the dust bowl. The crucified stranger weeped for no man's sky, feeling the loss of innocence a horrible mark of the wicked.  
Thorns emerged as Leon stared wide eyed, piercing through his legs.

" _Aaah!_ " He shouted, his blood flowing.

Light in the skies was swallowed by biblical flying snakes, and in the dark void above, a dark figure rose, crashing down.

Dressed in all black with blond hair, he came to claim his band of power. One body to rule all.  
All kingdoms stronger beyond. His pain can not be replicated, but sympathizers would believe it. And Leon too was aghast, the figure before him one he'd never fought, but a face he knew.

Albert Wesker.

His skin was infected with black veins, looking pale and translucent. His dark coat adorned, the ebony warhorse he rode had green flaming hooves and a matching mane. The land blackened beneath.  
It's soulless green eyes glowed brightly to him, cutting through the smog of ruined earth. It was a nightmarish creature, smelling of death. So too was Wesker, an imposing death knight beyond life.

From the ocean of time, he came. Somehow here, somehow alive. Or was he?

"So, you believe yourself above judgment? Well, then that changes thing." His voice was gleeful malice. Scornfully, he crossed his arms as he glared on at the ensnared agent.

Leon, still clutching his torn legs, screamed at Wesker. The desert remained calm, no wind to blow here.

But still, how come it had gotten so cold?

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

 **Thank you for reading I hope you liked this, after the long wait. I will try my best to update as soon as possible. I won't abandon this.**

 **Special thanks to my beta reader Angel wolf.**


	7. Chapter 6 Subhuman

**Chapter 6 - Subhuman**

* * *

Leon - She needed to find Leon.

Claire had a pretty strong feeling how the area was laid out, on a subtle level. She could walk around here and reach the area she wanted to if she accounted for the rules as they were so far.  
That little girl, whether she was crazy or not, it's no great loss that she doesn't stick around that little witch further. That girl was a total creep.  
But if there were other's trapped in this nightmare, people that she and Leon could help, then things may not be so bad. Perhaps, if they were lucky, the others might be able to help them. . .

It would only take a moment to check.

With a last glance at the room, walls sagging or melting, Claire walked to the second door, hoping she wasn't making a huge mistake.

It was a weird effect, as if the room was bizarrely running like ice-cream in the heat. Drops of paint and wall-matter rolled all over the edge of the floors.

With a flick of the wrist, she opened the door to the next hell.

She found herself in a faded room. There was a tiny elevator platform in one corner of the empty conference room, a square of metal that apparently was marked to travel down.  
Claire hurried toward it, feeling horribly lost and anxious. She had to keep moving, she had to find the real Leon. There didn't seem anything too wrong with this room, it was actually a nice respite.  
This despite the fact that it was devoid of life and it had that strange feeling in the air.

She can do this. . . It's alright. She kept assuring herself. Please be alive, man, please. . .  
She'd found a large hole in the ceiling, it hadn't been there when she'd entered on the other side.

Above, she could see bits of the room upstairs. It looked like storage of some kind or a really messy place.

Abruptly, a pale face emerge from the edge, a wide-eyed woman peaked at her from the room. Her long raven hair fell down, drooping.

Her face was. . . Wrong. Just wrong. It looked human, but at the same time. . . There was something off about it.

"Gah!" She yelled, shocked as she grabbed at her chest, "Who are you!?"

But the woman was silent and kept watching her, like she was trying to read her soul. Her face was plastic, having this quality of unreality to the texture of the skin that just wasn't human.  
It was like she were a doll. The eyes themselves were increasingly unnerving her, peering at her through the darkness like a twisted owl's.  
After an agonizingly long moment of staring at her, into the rushing hair and that soulless face. She forced herself to walk away, with every uncomfortable inch.

It wouldn't be smart to take your eyes off something like that but she had to get out of there.

That woman, whoever, _what_ ever she was, wasn't moving. That, at least, would assure her some safety from another attack. . . Or maybe not.

Claire quickly found the controls for the one-man lift and punched a button.  
A hidden motor whirred and the lift descended, inching down through the floor as she closed the gate.  
It was probably taking her to some other empty place, some other blank, unknown room.

Potentially, it might be worse, taking her directly into the path of yet another unnatural creature.

She clenched her damp hands in frustration as the lift slid slowly down, wishing that it was faster, that there were some way to speed up her search.  
She felt like she was running blind, taking whatever path lay in front of her; from the front hall of the station where she thought she found that. . . _thing_ , she'd found a dimly lit corridor.  
And then, the unadorned and somehow sterile conference room. It was like an endless funhouse. It made her feel poorly, afraid.

If Kennedy were dead, then it's. . . She shut down this futile train of thought before it got any farther, forcing herself to focus.

Negative thinking was a killer, and she couldn't afford it. If this is an actual curse going on here then she should try to stay positive and shrug it off, so that this place wouldn't eat her alive.

Such a weird-ass idea, something so peculiar it logically couldn't be real.

The elevator was lowering into a hall, and she crouched down into a running start, trying her best to be brave and prepare to run.

This place felt like an asylum, it was so different then what was above. She had to defend herself somehow as her new surroundings rose into view.

The concrete corridor had another lift at the other end, and was intersected by a second hall, maybe forty feet away.  
Next to that junction there was a body propped against one cement wall. It looked like. . .  
She felt a mix of shock and distress, her eyes widening as she took in the man's slack features, the hair color, the build. . .

Deja vu.

Still she wasn't sure if it was really him, or another trick by a creature hunting her.

"L-Leon!?" She called, slowly Claire made her way toward him. There is no sign of him moving, or even breathing.

She felt her heart slam her rib cage painfully as she knelt down and touched his shoulder. Slowly shaking him.

"Leon!?"

The man slightly opened his eyes and looked at her, his lips moved into barely visible smile. Claire felt her nervousness fade a little bit, but still. . . Trust was hard here.

The next thing she knew, he'd slammed his lips to hers and nearly knocked all wind from her lungs.  
She hardly had a moment to react before he forced his tongue past her lips and down her throat. Claire fought back, alarmed at his aggression at a time like this.

She pushed him off, getting free somehow as he gave her a strange smile.

"What the hell are you doing!?" She yelled.

Leon spoke again, his voice lower, like he'd huffed a small bit of sulfur hexafluoride, "Isn't this what you've wanted, for a long time?"

"What!?"

Right before her eyes, she saw him unbuckle his belt.

"I know you desire me, you yearn for my flesh," He spoke seductive, but at the same time, he was forceful, "Come here, I'll give you what you want!"

Claire, without a doubt, felt somewhat aroused after hearing those words, but she knew this wasn't right.

He was wrong, he was twisted, she knew it had to be another of those vile creatures. She took a step toward him, as if she were agreeing to this. . .

But she pushed against his chest, forcing him back into the wall, away from her.

"You are _not_ Leon! He'd have enough respect to ask me for consent." As she said this, the imposter's eyes went dead, becoming glassy eyed as he smiled deranged.

Her breath started to quicken.

"W-Who are you!? What _is_ this place?"

Veins started to appear in his face, turning the color of his skin to ashen.

"I'm your fear, I'm your keeper. My very existence terrifies you because you've forgotten about me." The creature laughed, it's voice raspy and deep.

"Should I be afraid of you!?" She remained tough, and raised her arms to prepare for defense.

The creature stood and dusted itself off, chuckling.

"Hmhmhm, Oh yes. Yes you should. You're a tortured one, you are. Your lust, the object of that insipid crush you have, is trapped within the seventh layer now. _You can't reach him._ "

Claire took a step back once more, "I don't understand!?"

The creature grinned wildly, it's teeth sharpening slowly to razors as flecks of calcium fell away. 'Leon' began strolling toward her.

"I'm not a guide, you know. I just do what I'm made to do." It sneered in her face, it's fingernails so long now.

Claire felt her back hit a wall, this isn't good.

"So you want to fuck, huh?" She felt his crooked hand slide to her shorts.

Claire gritted her teeth. Her fingers tightened and her rage surfaced. Flexing her toes inside her boot, then releasing them again, she hauled off and kicked him in the abdomen as hard as she could.

Unexpectedly, the creature reeled back, writhing in pain. She thought it wouldn't have any affect at all.  
Taking the chance, she took off, bolting for the door closest to her. She had to reach it before 'it' started after her again.

...

She found herself in a hallway, one with vaulted ceiling's and stone bricks.

The man that walked out from a nearby door looked liked a ragged, cloaked version of him. At first his eyes were cast to the dusty, earthen floor, and he looked so pale. His eyes were wide open, lost in his own mind. He lifted his head and looked out at her.

Claire prepared herself mentally to escape in case things got weird again.

"Claire." A voice echoed.

Her head darted around looking for the source anywhere she could, but it didn't seem to come from even the altered figure.

"Huh?" She whispered, confused.

* * *

. . .

* * *

Leon gently pulled his hand away from his legs, the blood gummy and thick between his fingers.

Tendons of barbed wire had risen from the living ground and thrust themselves through his lower limbs. How they did so on their own, he couldn't say, but that was the least strange thing going on.

In a tumultuous fit of motion, the wires abruptly removed themselves, ripping themselves out from his legs of their own volition.  
Receding back to the ground they were still attached to, he writhed around in agony for a while as he noted the wet sand was genuinely annoying.

He stayed there for a long time, wondering where Wesker had gone, his hellish steed vanished as well.

In time his wounds seemed not to ache as badly, almost like he were awake enough to feel them change.

It still hurt, but not as sharply as before. The bleeding had stopped, at least at the entrance; shreds of the torn clothes he'd used had clotted to the wound, forming a stiff seal.  
He leaned forward, reaching around to touch where the barbs had come out; again, a hardening, tacky patch of fabric beneath the pulsing ache of the wound.

He couldn't be positive, but he thought that the wires had gone straight through his flesh, missing the bone completely, which meant. . . He was _extremely god-damn lucky_.

'I have to get out of here, I have to survive.' He thought to himself.

He thought it was the shock of the trauma that had made him black out, perhaps he imagined Wesker's company, a subject of illness. Leon couldn't afford any more time to recover.  
Falling asleep was bad enough, he didn't even know he could do that here. Clenching his teeth, Leon pushed himself up, his muscles cold and stiff from the damp chill.  
It occurred to him, the desert was gone. The moisture was from the couch he laid on, the temperature now cool and surprisingly welcoming. He wondered what was up.

Gasping as the pain intensified, stabbing, broiling sensations surged in and out of his nerves, yet it ebbed, receding to the duller throbbing sensation after a few seconds.

He'd forced himself up to his feet and he stood grasping the edge of the couch for dear sanity.

Leon waited it out, inhaling deeply through his nose as he tried to regulate his breathing.  
Reminding himself that it could have been a hell of a lot worse made it feel less awful somehow.

When he was finally on his feet fully, he decided he could take it.

He wasn't light-headed nor dizzy, and although there was blood on the floor and couch, his blood, there wasn't nearly as much as he'd thought there would be.

Careful not to jostle his wounds, Leon turned and walked back to the closed door of the waiting room, moving as quickly as he could.

Through the door, he was faced with another water-filled tunnel stretching off in either direction.  
There was a ladder on the wall to his left, but he didn't even want to guess how he'd climb it without ripping open his legs - besides which, there was a loudly spinning fan at the top.

"No. . . Not this again." He can remember quite vividly. This is the path both Claire and Ada went back through when they were in the real Raccoon city.

He struck off to the right, stepping down into the dark water and sloshing forward, hoping that he'd see some sign as to where the exit is.

The water's flooded his wounds, it hurt so god damn much he nearly feel three times. Still, he trudged on, powered by a shock of adrenaline.

"Sleep my love, let the trees above protect you from the dark." A familiar voice started singing to him.

Her voice rolled over his ears in sorrowful waves as he waded through the empty liquids. Swells of power rose up in him to remembers this, but he couldn't tell if this was another trick.  
The voice was graceful and kind, yet he knew the haunting feeling that the song was only brought out in a fit of loneliness, of pain. What warranted the sudden melody? Even the voice reminded him of. . .Manuela Hidalgo.

Behind him stood a young woman, one who was exceptionally beautiful, and a person he'd long since admired.

How is that. . .? Why?

Ada Wong stood in her red dress, preserved just as she was as she looked and said to the unknowing man, "You shouldn't be here."

He flinched, whipping his head around as he saw her.

"Ada. . . ! What-" He was cut off, she spoke over him.

"No time for argument." She said, "You have to leave. The light, you have to get to the light."

"Where is that!? Take me! We can get out together! I-" He didn't finish as she held out her finger.

"Shh. . . I'm not here for that. Just go." She said, and like that, she disappeared into a black fog.

The man stood perplexed as much as he was crushed. Where had she gone, was she real at all? He knew he needed to get out soon.  
He turned back around to find a light had begun shining down on the path ahead. 'You have to get to the light. . .' Okay, here goes.

He began making his way forward through the still water again, his legs no longer pounding. The process of walking was a little easier now as he struggled on and on.

A small, barely visible wave moved against his knees. What caused that? He could only go forward, but what was happening here?  
He went further, dragging the waters some more, like never before in fact, and he kept making his way as the waters kept still again, until. . .  
Another wave, slightly bigger now, crashed against his knees.

He stopped, listening for anything, the demonic JD, the priest, zombies, _anything_. . . But he could see nothing down that long hall, try as he might.  
Though it was something he hesitated to do, he kept going forward, the intent to persevere. Suddenly, the water level lowered, as if it were being drained.

"What the hell?" He commented aloud, before seeing a colossal thirty-foot-tall wave absorb all space in the tunnel, " _What the hell!?_ "

The tsunami overcame him, washing him away out of the tunnel.

Tumbling over and over himself, the energy swept his body into another realm, the rush of the water obscuring his vision.

He must have been traveling at over 1000 miles, the speed was incredible.

Terrifying in it's own right, he had no idea where he was, whether he was going to the sea, or if this place wanted him elsewhere. The end result saw him rolling over on his side.  
He hadn't hit anything, it was as if the entirety of the building behind him had just vanished again. He found himself washed up onto his front, his pounding head on the ground.  
The freezing water chilled him to the very bone, even though his legs still bore him scorching excruciation. He pushed off the ground with his right hand to see that the ground was tiled.

Not that of the RCPD, no. . . The flooring was grey and sterile. He coughed for minutes on end, laying there exhausted.

Looking around, he got a grip of his surroundings more clearly. He saw white walls and lockers, bright enough they stung his eyes.

It was a school. . . It was Raccoon City's catholic middle school, to be exact.

He crawled to his feet, and he noticed, strangely, that his clothing had changed. He was no longer wearing what he'd become accustomed to.  
It was his brown bomber jacket, his grey combat shirt and those black military cargos. . . Las Plagas. . . Why was he wearing this? Why now, why here?

He heard something from behind him.

Whipping his head around, he expected the worst, but got something else.

There was nothing at all, or so it seemed, as when he looked down the hall, it was entirely empty.

"Great, back-to-school-night. . ." He remarked to himself, grabbing his pistol with his fingerless-gloved hands.

It was still bizarre that he'd somehow switched clothes without even feeling it, though the holes in his pants were preserved from the shredding.

The wounds felt porous, he had to fix himself up soon. What was this doing to him in the real world? Questions for later, if there was ever going to be a later.

He couldn't rely on there even being a 'later' to reach right now.

Holding his weapon sights steady, he stalked the hallways in a field of tension, hoping he could find a way out of here, this old disturbing mystery.  
The lights were dim, slowly scuttling between bright levels as their power seemed insufficient. There was a window on the side of the hall up ahead, where a view might be.  
It was a complete oblivion, there was nothing outside apart from pure blackness. He couldn't see so much as a foot out into the dark. So it was night time, perfect.

As he glared at the hopeless void, Leon heard a metallic noise; someone had opened a door.

He stayed on high alert, pointing his gun out into the hallway. As he did so, he observed that the sound was indeed true, a door to a teacher's office had opened on it's own.

Even here, he wasn't safe. Leon's grip tightened as he slowly made his way over, keeping his eyes vigilant to the right side of the doorway.  
Eventually, he saw inside was a well lit desk and a computer. An old landline telephone sat next to the name-plaque, on the opposite end of the desk.  
Footsteps. Giant footsteps. A low, rumbling growl accompanied them.

" **Hehe. . . Don't think you can run now. . .** " The monster barked, it's horns poking out from the darkness of the adjacent hall, " **I've finally found you!** "

Those dead eyes, that cracked smile. No, not again. Leon's eye's widened, a bead of sweat forming on his temple.  
There wasn't enough time to get away from that monster now, and his legs wouldn't let him be fast. His gun did nothing, and he wasn't in the best physical shape.  
He took the only option he could.

Leon darted into the room and slammed the door behind him. He saw the contraption that let the door swing open up above.  
He took one second and shot a bullet through the mechanism. The thing broke apart, and the wood essentially locked itself shut, becoming a barrier.

Kennedy looked around the cramped room for anything and though he knew it was a delusional escape, he hid himself under the desk.

It was cramped and painful, but he had to do it.

The creature roared and busted against the door and wall, causing dust and rubble to fall down all over the place as the entire structure vibrated with each blow.  
It wouldn't let up trying as hard as it could to break through the barrier, roaring obscenities at Leon through the concrete and metal.  
He held on tight to his pistol, and shrunk himself down as much as he possibly could. The creature banged so hard on the door it was unreal that it didn't disintegrate.

A moment of silence passed, the creature unexpectedly stopping its assault.

He heard a roar, and it suddenly ceased to exist. There were no footsteps, just silence.

Leon didn't dare emerge from the desk, for fear it was playing him, baiting him to safety. He stayed there for thirty minutes at least, biding his time until he was sure it was gone.  
He took a huge breath in, calming himself as much as he could. This is getting to be a bad comedy. There seemed to be nothing, no more sounds or creeks as he listened intently.  
Finally, after forty minutes, he pulled himself out from behind the desk, and found that the door had been kicked in a good foot, looking bent.

The walls were cracked, barely holding together the defense.

If the demon had taken it just a little further, it would have been inside.

He took a seat on the chair exhausted, slumping over as he briefly considered putting that barrel in his mouth. This was lunacy.  
What had brought him here and for what purpose? That tidal wave was trippy, where'd that much water come from? He was asking for logic in a dark place like this.  
It all felt so empty, but at least there was some respite inside the office. He found a flashlight on the table, that would come in handy.

Grabbing it, he tested the item. It flickered on, appearing to hold a steady beam. Good, good. That would be helpful. He placed it in his jacket, where his old one was normally kept.

It was weird to be dressed this way again, after so long.

"Still remember where the holster is. . ." He remarked as he place the light in the old spot.

He forgot how much he liked the jacket, but it still made no sense why it had suddenly appeared on him. Leon said flatly, "Jesus Christ."

A catholic school in the midst of Raccoon City, what unpleasant thoughts that conjured.  
He'd never stopped to visit anyway back when, the idea of zombified children was too horrid.

He knew Sherry had attended one of the schools out there, but he didn't know which. Sherry. . . Funny thing, he hadn't thought about her in years, not since he'd met her as an adult.

So much had happened to a girl like her, he didn't get it. Life was weird. Difficult, even.

The phone rang, chirping in his ear a diseased caw. It rang out into the frigid air, the dust seeming to distort to it's sound waves. He went white.

Now, who could that be?

He picked up the phone and listened.

Words echoed into his brain, something horrible and profound. His eyes widened with shock, the phrases said to him with virtiol and blinding hatred. It ate him alive. Slowly, he left it on the desk and went for the door, a flurry of things rushing through his head. It felt like his chest was going break his rib cage at any moment now.

"God damn it, god damn this. . . I don't- I don't want to be here anymore!" He agonized, digging his fingers into his head. He gave up being hidden as he slammed the door roughly and its sound bellowed through the entire school building.

His ear caught the sound of breathing, he could sense someone was there with him.

Once he looked at the end of the hall, he saw her, his partner. The drab white paint of the school walls and the concrete flooring made for a depressing visual, he always did feel schools were prisons almost.

"Claire." He said to himself, his anguish bleeding away.

The woman looked around, though she could not find him. How? He was standing right there. Was this real?

"Claire!" He shouted, and it seemed as if something broke, then she saw him.

"Leon?" She called back, "I-Is it really you?"

 **Really** him?

What?

"What are you talking about?" He replied, surprised, "Get ahold of yourself, we need to leave- How did you get here!?"

They ran toward one another across the hall, intent to just at least get some relief. She knew it was him, the first logical person who wasn't twisted in some way, and he knew her by the way she talked she had to be real. Her mere mention of it at least being the 'real' him spelled out that she'd become trapped here too, somehow. . .

As they drew closer, Leon's outstretched wrist hit a hard surface that stood between them. It was a sheet of invisible glass.

She was horribly confused, wondering what the hell he hit. She stopped and put her hands up, it was a clear wall.  
In a rage, Leon smashed his fists against it, believing he could break the glass, and it pained her to see him try so hard against a surface that wouldn't break. He pounded against the 'glass' for minutes on end, smashing as hard as he could until his fist could bear it no more.

"Damn it!" He shrieked, giving one last bash of his right fist.

Finally, he stopped, but she could see hints of tears at the corner of his eyes.

What had he gone through? She knew he was there far longer than herself. It's something she didn't wish to find out. Four days her time in this horrible place. . . She couldn't imagine.

"It's okay. . ." She choked, "It's okay! We're-. . . At least we found our real selves."

She was right, that was something. He was just glad to see a real person again.

"How? Wh-. . . Why are you here?" He asked reaching for her cheek, in a vain effort to wipe her tears. He just touched the pane.

"I-I wanted to help you, I couldn't stay out there and do nothing."

"You. . . You came here for me. You can't be serious." He remarked, disappointed in her recklessness, "This is the last **place** I wanted you to be!"

"I know! I know," She retorted, "You have to understand! I-I couldn't let you go down, not this way. . . Not like this."

He gritted his teeth as tears welled in his eyes, the two barred from contact by the invisible wall. He knew she had done this out of a feckless affection, he always had meant to speak with her about it. He put it off so many times. This is his fault. . .

Their bittersweet reunion was cut short when a light far behind Leon switched off.

It was well down the corridor, far behind him. He let go of the wall, turning around to face what was beyond. As he did, another light cut out. Then another, and another. . . Soon, the lights began to rapidly shut off one at a time, marching towards them a frightening speed.

She banged on the glass herself, hoping in vain it would break, her perception of the world around them an old church rather than the spiffy school. She begged and begged for the barrier to fade but it would not do so. Finally, the last light shut off, and Kennedy vanished into darkness. She sank to her knees, screaming the word 'no.' Her fists tightened as she begged for the voluntary torture to end. Leon was right in his words, she'd made a mistake coming into this world after him.

"Leon! Leon, please!" She yelled in vain. But he wouldn't answer.

She stood still, left behind in the hall as the lights powered back on to reveal it completely empty. Leon was nowhere.

"Aaaaah!" She raged out, pounding the floor with a sullen fist.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

 **Thank you for reading**

 **Thank you very Much Angel wolf for helping me.**


End file.
